


glass stained black

by unrequitedangst



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, Knife Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Spies & Secret Agents, a circle has no beginning or end, angst with a purpose, the metaphor is volleyball, this is a metaphor fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrequitedangst/pseuds/unrequitedangst
Summary: There's certain things Osamu expects.  A precis of his current mission status, a justification from Kuroo for a second undercover agent deployment, Suna's official Agency dossier, even.  Something or anything that will explain why Suna Rintarou is undercover in Shiratorizawa alongside Miya Osamu.The file Teshiro gives Osamu has none of these.  There's only a single thin sheet of paper with a photograph stapled to the front.Suzuki Ryuusei, it says at the top in neat kanji, above a list of biographical facts.  The birthdate is wrong, of course.   So are the list of known associates, and the individual identification number, and the so-called criminal records beneath the name.The one where Osamu and Suna are secret agents infiltrating a criminal organization.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95
Collections: SunaOsa, SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	glass stained black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irusu_u3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irusu_u3/gifts).



> This was written for Iru in the SunaOsa Exchange, who asked for forbidden/secret relationships, plot angst with happy endings, and gang/mafia & spy AUs, although possibly not all at the same time. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This story has no major character death. There is violence & minor character death, but the E rating is for sexual content.
> 
> The criminal organizations here are archetypical rather than a direct Yakuza/Mafia rendition. For more Yakuza-focused stories, please check out [DeathBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929460) and [MeikoAtsushi's](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029528) excellent fics.
> 
> This story is intended to be read from beginning to end as is, but please feel free to click the arrows / CTRL+F for the next letter in the alphabet (e.g., |A|) if you prefer to read chronologically.

**1. →**

  
It's Semi this time, not Tendou or Goshiki, so the job doesn't take long at all. In the pale moonlight, it's almost impossible for Osamu to make out the blood spatter on Semi's face.

A few minutes ago, Semi hadn't seemed anything but a bored salaryman sauntering up to the convenience store their target owned. He’d looked polished in his pressed, clean suit and leather gloves, sharp and focused and professional, and Osamu had known, watching him, that the whole thing would be over quickly. Gripping the car steering wheel tightly, Osamu had waited for the sound of two silenced gunshots in quick succession and tried to think of nothing at all.

There is no sound after the second gun discharge, screaming or otherwise. There's only silence for a handful of heartbeats until the konbini door opens and Semi reemerges.

When Semi moves to Osamu's car, he does so briskly. It's only for a moment when the light falls on his face that Osamu can clearly see the lines of tension in the man's shoulders, the fine mist of blood and bone dusting one side of his face. There's a distinct odor of smoke as Semi climbs into the vehicle, the handgun at his side temporarily at rest—

It's for a moment only, then Osamu's in motion once the door slams shut again. As he pulls away from the curb, he can see Semi's face in shadow in the rearview mirror, the konbini lights fading behind them as Osamu accelerates toward Shiratorizawa.

Like Semi, Osamu is a professional. He doesn't ask how the job went, and Semi doesn't answer. 

  


*

  


Goshiki and Shirabu are already arguing by the time Osamu gets back. Goshiki is standing in the middle of the Shiratorizawa living room, shouting something about Iwaizumi Hajime. Shirabu, more composed, is sneering. In the corner, Kawanishi and Yamagata are drinking beers and watching the first two like a spectator sport.

The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off, leaving Osamu jittery and exhausted. Distantly, Osamu can hear Semi saying something about reporting to Washijou. The words slot seamlessly into the buzzing in the back of Osamu's mind.

His hands are beginning to shake, Osamu notes. He balls them up within his pockets and goes into the kitchen to look for a drink.

Suna’s sitting at the kitchen table with Ohira. Their heads are bent together over sheafs of official looking documents—customs forms and birth certificates and passports strewn wildly across the table—and Suna looks exhausted. He still glances up when Osamu walks in and does something with his mouth that might be a half-smile before turning back to Ohira.

Stupid, but Osamu can't help the sharp thrill that cuts through him then, even though he knows better than to believe it means anything.

If there were no mission and they were both still in training, Osamu thinks, he might pull a chair up to the table now. If Ohira weren't there, if he and Suna weren't both undercover, Osamu thinks, he might ghost a palm over Suna's shoulder. He might let their knees bump beneath the table, he might slot his mouth against Suna's slow and sweet.

If Suna were still Suna Rintarou, and Osamu wasn't somebody different than he is. Osamu might, he might, he might.

'Might' doesn't mean anything, because 'might' isn't something Osamu can change, no matter how much he wants it to.

Osamu grabs a can of Suntory Malt, and doesn't look at Suna or Ohira. He leaves the room.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |G| 2. →**

  
"You'd be doing us a big favor, Miya," Kuroo had said before, smiling crookedly at Osamu. The section chief had insisted on meeting Osamu over takeout in a small, cramped fourth-floor Agency conference room rather than the Agency's cafeteria or somewhere offsite, and the entire thing had set Osamu's nerves on edge.

A closed dossier lay in front of Kuroo, its cover the distinct maroon that the Agency used for internal personnel. Osamu was doing his best not to look, but he could tell from the amused glint in Kuroo's eyes that he wasn't quite succeeding.

Atsumu had always maintained Kuroo talked like a conman about to cheat someone out of their life's savings, but this was the first time Osamu thought there might be something to it beyond 'Tsumu's melodramatic exaggeration.

As a matter of public record, Kuroo Tetsurou was an outstanding Intelligence Security Agency field agent who successfully closed a number of high profile investigations before his promotion to head of the Major Crimes unit. From general Agency gossip, Osamu knew Kuroo was a crack shot, had an incredible intuition for the way targets in the field would behave, and was close to Kozume Kenma from Digital Forensics and Special Agent Bokuto Koutarou.

Osamu didn't have any other feelings about Kuroo, either positive or negative. The truth was, they worked in entirely different Agency divisions and they existed in entirely different social circles. They'd never interacted beyond the standard niceties of coworkers passing in the hall. While it wasn't _impossible_ Kuroo might want to collaborate with Osamu's division — the Financial Crimes unit, headed up by Moniwa — it would have made far more sense for Kuroo to request a direct meeting with Moniwa rather than a junior agent like Osamu.

Kuroo had no reason to meet personally with Osamu, and Osamu was acutely aware of this fact.

"What kinda favor?" Osamu asked, stabbing his chopsticks into his rice in the way that would have made Kita give him a _look_. "Not that I don't appreciate ya buying me lunch and all, but—"

"I've been talking to Moniwa and Kurosu about you," said Kuroo, a little too smoothly for comfort. "They both speak quite highly of you — they say you're almost as good as your brother. How's Atsumu doing, by the way? I heard Meian picked him up for one of his elite teams. Must be strange working without him, especially since you're stuck here under _Moniwa_."

The Osamu of a few years before might have gotten angry at the implication that Atsumu was better.

The Osamu of then was mostly annoyed at the measured way Kuroo was watching him, golden stare sharp and amused above a lazy, couldn't-care-less smirk.

Kuroo wanted a reaction. Osamu wasn't going to give him one.

"Things're a lot quieter without 'Tsumu around, but he's happy on the Jackals," Osamu said, ignoring the bait. "He's wanted to be one since he was a kid, so I can't be too mad about him getting it first. Was the favor ya wanted me putting you in touch with 'Tsumu?"

The thought of a section chief requesting a meeting for the sole purpose of passing a message to Atsumu wasn't pleasant, but it would not have been the first time. Even before Atsumu was promoted to full Special Agent status and recruited to the Jackals, he'd always been difficult to get in touch with. He rarely checked his email, left text messages on read, and often even forgot to charge his phone.

Osamu had two decades of experience being the responsible one taking messages on his twin's behalf, while Atsumu charged ahead somewhere else.

"Maybe favor's too a strong way to phrase it . . . we'd be mutually benefitting, I think. It's nothing to do with Atsumu, though," said Kuroo, laughing. He took a couple bites of his lunch, flipping ostentatiously through the personnel dossier before him. From the speed he turned the pages, it was clear Kuroo had seen its contents many times before. "I assume you've heard Major Crimes is short-staffed at the moment?"

"Because of the Ikejiri case, right?" Osamu forced himself to make eye contact with Kuroo rather than stare too obviously at the dossier. In his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of something that might have been his official identification photo, or Atsumu's.

"Yeah," said Kuroo, waving it off. "Taketora's on personal leave, and Fukunaga and Inuoka are both out until medical clears them. Might take a couple weeks. The timing's not great, so that's where you come in."

"Okay ... ?" Osamu trailed off. He wasn't certain what any of this had to do with him.

"Look, Miya, I'll be honest. From a records perspective, you're great. Kurosu says you're one of the best candidates for Special Agent that he's ever seen. All your instructors speak well of you. You and Atsumu have nearly identical qualifications and testing scores across the board. The only reason Hibarida chose not to promote you alongside your brother was the difference in your motivation."

So it had been that, after all. It wasn't a surprise. Osamu knew it was immediately obvious to everyone that Atsumu possessed an intense drive and ambition Osamu lacked. Osamu had suspected as much at the time, and told Atsumu so.

The confirmation of it still stung.

"All right," said Osamu. "Thanks for letting me know, I guess."

But Kuroo wasn't done.

"Like I told you earlier, Major Crimes is understaffed, but an opportunity's come up. I've got a short-term undercover assignment I think you'd be suited for, Miya. The timing's tight, though, so I need a 'yes' or 'no' now. If you agree, you'll be leaving sometime this week."

"I don't have undercover experience," said Osamu. He'd been trained in the basics, same as every other junior agent in the Agency, certainly, but that was hardly comparable to the sort of operations Major Crimes or Counterterrorism agents might participate in regularly.

"Yes, I assume Moniwa doesn't let his people see much of that," said Kuroo, making a small noise of derision. "That's why the mission would be short-term. Two months, most likely, maybe three depending how things go, but you'd be deep undercover with the exception of handler reports every three weeks. Since it'd be 'round the clock for the entire duration, Nekomata and I talked to Hibarida and he agreed this assignment would be sufficient to demonstrate your commitment and complete your promotion requirements."

Osamu paused at that. From the way Kuroo was talking, it almost sounded like--

"Yeah," said Kuroo, and his eyes were bright and golden, intent upon Osamu's face. "It means exactly what you think. You'd be promoted to full Special Agent status upon successful mission completion. You'd be eligible for any position in my unit, or Shirofuku's, or Meian's -- or any section leader's, really. But if you're interested in Meian, I'd be happy to put in a good word if you want to partner back up with your brother."

It had sounded good. It had sounded more than good. It was the sort of chance Osamu should have been delighted for. And looking back later, Osamu would wonder how he hadn't seen it then, how obvious it was that this was a terrible idea, but in the moment, he hadn't felt anything except a slight tinge of guilt that he wasn't more excited for the opportunity.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |N| 3. →**

  
Suna first shows up on a Thursday. Osamu's been a part of Shiratorizawa for almost six months at that point.

Ushijima announces Suna at their weekly team dinner. For the head of an organization that kills people on a regular basis, Ushijima is weirdly insistent on its members spending time together. Because Ushijima is late, half of Shiratorizawa is watching a television sports game while the other half are fucking around on their phones.

"Please excuse me, everyone," says Ushijima, walking into the room. "Allow me to introduce you to the newest member of our organization. Suzuki Ryuusei will be working with Ohira and Shirabu on certain supply chain logistics."

 _Supply chain logistics,_ Osamu thinks without looking up from his phone. Kuroo will be interested. The bulk of what Osamu's involved in for Shiratorizawa is protection rackets, with the occasional chauffeur duty for contract murder. They're hardly victimless crimes, but the amount of evidence generated is far less than that involved in smuggling illegal weapons, drugs, or human trafficking.

"Suzuki-kun has an invaluable expertise when it comes to document fabrication," Ushijima says. "I believe he will prove a great asset to our shipping endeavors. I trust you will all make yourselves available to assist with whatever requirements he may have --"

When Osamu looks up, Suna Rintarou is standing on the other side of the room and Osamu can feel the breath freeze in his lungs.

"Thank you for introducing me, Ushijima-san." Suna is wearing the pressed, formal clothing that Ushijima favors: his hair is neatly combed, and for once he's even wearing a tie. "I'm pleased to meet everyone, and I hope we can work well together. Please take care of me." When he looks around the room, his gaze skates over Osamu without stopping.

It's been five and a half months since Osamu's talked to anyone who isn't Kuroo, his handler Teshiro, or a member of Shiratorizawa.

It's been nine months since the last time Osamu saw Suna. Not that it matters.

Even if it was nine years, Osamu would still recognize him. The name might be unfamiliar, but there's no mistaking the sharp features and blank expression, the awkward way Suna hunches his shoulders.

It takes conscious effort for Osamu to turn away and act like he doesn't care.

  


*

  


Osamu's got a couple days left until his next handler meeting, but he bullies Teshiro into moving things up. Teshiro's not happy about the expedited schedule or Osamu's demands for information, but Osamu doesn't care. Osamu's the one who's been stuck in Shiratorizawa for the last several months; Teshiro's the one who sprang Suna on him without any warning.

As far as Osamu's concerned, Teshiro can shove it.

It's not difficult to stay out of Suna's way during the thirty-six or so hours that elapse between Suna's arrival and the meeting Teshiro grudgingly sets up. Osamu's supposed to be the low man in the Shiratorizawa pecking order: the driver and goon permanently on standby for Semi and Kawanishi and anyone else in the organization who might need him.

Suna is supposed to be the new hot shit, apparently. When Suna tells Ushijima that he needs special facilities for his work, half of Shiratorizawa gets conscripted into action. Suna needs a darkroom. Suna needs special lighting. Suna needs a long list of glues and polymers, and a special computer.

Suna's useful to Shirabu, so he's invaluable to everyone else. Osamu's just the driver.

"This is a one time thing, understand?" The folder Teshiro hands Osamu is slim. Like all their other agent-handler meetings, they're in a nondescript love hotel. From the man's impressively furrowed eyebrows, it's obvious he's unhappy with Osamu's requests. "I had to ask Komori for multiple personal favors, so this better be worth it."

"Yeah, okay, thanks," Osamu says brusquely as he flips the file open. He knows the insincerity in his voice is too obvious, but he can't bring himself to care.

There's certain things Osamu expects. A precis of his current mission status, a justification from Kuroo for a second undercover agent deployment, Suna's official Agency dossier, even. Something or anything that will explain why Suna Rintarou is undercover in Shiratorizawa alongside Miya Osamu.

The file Teshiro gives Osamu has none of these. There's only a single thin sheet of paper with a photograph stapled to the front.

 _Suzuki Ryuusei_ , it says at the top in neat kanji, above a list of biographical facts. The birthdate is wrong, of course. So are the list of known associates, and the individual identification number, and the so-called criminal records beneath the name.

In his official photograph, Suzuki has a dark bruise splashed across one cheekbone and a sharp, calculating grey-eyed stare, the product of a youth spent shoplifting and passing fake checks.

When Osamu looks up, Teshiro is watching him, his eyes narrowed.

"S'that it? This ain't anything but his official cover file."

"You should be glad I got that much." Teshiro is a short, stocky man with a tendency toward pompousness and a palpable dislike whenever he looks at Osamu. Before becoming a handler, he’d gone into the Special Agent candidate pool for five successive years without being selected.

"I could get this much from paying off any cop," Osamu says. "Ya telling me you came all the way out here to give me a fake mugshot and criminal report?"

"Iizuna raised hell when he found out I was poking around," Teshiro says. "I'd also like to remind you which of us here is reporting to whom."

Technically, yes, Teshiro is Osamu's superior. Practically, it's not something often enforced, but Osamu decides to let that go in light of the rest of what Teshiro's said. "Iizuna _Tsukasa_?"

It doesn't make sense. What does the division chief of the Domestic Security and Counterterrorism division have to do with Osamu? Osamu's never spoken to him, and as far as Osamu knows, Suna's never worked with Kuroo or the Major Crimes division. There's no reason for Kuroo and Iizuna to coordinate any kind of joint operation--

"Kuroo didn't send Suna in, Iizuna did," Teshiro says. "The whole damn thing's a coincidence. Iizuna wouldn't say much, but apparently your Special Agent friend is running some big operation for them. He's pissed, by the way, that Kuroo didn't tell them about you. Like this is our fault-- "

 _A big operation,_ Osamu thinks, tuning the man out. As far as Osamu knows, Shiratorizawa's not specifically involved in terrorism, but they are involved in a lot of different things and people don't exactly tell Osamu much.

Osamu never thought Suna had a particular interest in Counterterrorism or Iizuna, but he supposes it's possible. He also hadn't thought Suna had any interest in becoming a Special Agent.

Some Special Agents, like Aran, stayed in one division for years. Others, like Heiwajima, jumped divisions constantly. A select few, like Atsumu, got to work directly under Meian and travel the world.

"-- due diligence," Teshiro is saying, grimacing, when Osamu starts listening again. "You'd think they'd be aware that Major Crimes has more important things to worry about than what Counterterrorism is up to."

"Ya expect me to believe that out of all people the Agency employed, they just happened to send in Suna Rintarou?"

"I don't much care what you believe, Miya," Teshiro says. "But I talked to Komori and Iizuna myself, and they were both surprised to learn about you. Neither of them is happy about you, by the way, because they're worried you'll cause some big interdepartment headache."

" 'Interdepartment headache'," Osamu repeats, keeping his voice neutral as he can.

"I don't know what you expect," Teshiro grumbles. "Counterterrorism's always been territorial, of course it was going to be a headache. But because they're professionals, just like we are, they've agreed to respect your mission autonomy in the same way we are going to respect theirs."

"What the fuck's _that_ s'pposed to mean?" Osamu demands.

"You're the candidate for Special Agent, not me," says Teshiro, sanctimonious like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and for a long moment Osamu wishes he could get away with punching the man in the face. "You should be more familiar with the protocols for undercover missions than I am."

Protocol. The standard protocol for two agents who aren't actively working together on an undercover mission is to maintain both parties' cover at all costs unless one agent's life is endangered. The potential risk of destroying both agents' covers and the associated missions is otherwise too great.

It's fine, Osamu thinks. He doesn't need to work with Suna directly. As far as anyone in Shiratorizawa is concerned, he and Suna are complete strangers. Osamu just needs to keep his distance, not slip up, finish his assignment, and get out.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |B| 4. →**

  
The first time Osamu had met Suna, they had both been sixteen. Osamu hadn't thought much of it.

Every three months, the Agency held bereavement events for friends and relatives of deceased employees. The events were tedious and weepy, populated mostly by people who had lost someone recently enough for the wound to still be raw, and sanctimonious people who felt justified in endless speeches about forgiveness and self-compassion.

Atsumu liked the events because it was a chance to hear people reminisce about their dead hero father. Osamu went for the catering, which was excellent, and because he didn't want Atsumu to attend by himself.

The events themselves weren't _bad_ , exactly. Mostly they were dull. Osamu had been attending them since he was nine years old. By now, he had the whole thing down to a routine: show up, grab a plate of food, and find a quiet corner away from anyone who wanted to talk about Atsumu or their father. When the plate's empty, grab more food, then repeat until it's time to go home or the food runs out.

Osamu was busy trying to decide if he wanted to get another serving now or later when a tall, scrawny boy walked up.

"Okay if I stand here too?"

Osamu took him in with a quick glance. Dark hair, light eyes, didn't look weepy. Not someone who had recently lost a relative, then.

"Sure," said Osamu. He waited for the inevitable barrage of questions about who Osamu was or who he'd lost, but it never came. Instead the two of them stood in comfortable silence for the next hour or so, eating and watching other people mill sadly about the room.

Like always, there were many bad speeches, but the other boy seemed just as disinterested as Osamu. Occasionally, he'd offer up a wry comment when something particularly terrible was said, but he didn't seem invested in Osamu's response. What he said was simply what he thought.

It should have been awkward, but wasn't. It was refreshing.

"See you in three months," said the boy, once all the speeches were over and people were tearily starting to leave. He nodded briefly at Osamu before walking away.

  


*

  


Three months later, the hotel was different, the caterer was different, and so was the guest list, but the boy's bored expression was the same when Osamu spotted him in a distant corner.

This time it was Osamu's turn to walk up and ask, " 's it okay with ya if I wait here?"

"Knock yourself out," said the boy. He was gnawing, thoughtfully, on what appeared to be a stick of celery. His hair was longer and more dishevelled than it had been three months before, but he otherwise looked the same.

"Ya got family here?" Osamu asked. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't curious about this kid who seemed to be about the same age.

"No. I thought that was the point of these events," said the boy. He said it matter-of-factly enough that it shocked a slight laugh out of Osamu. "You?"

"My brother," Osamu said. "He's around here somewhere pesterin' people."

They lapsed back into silence. This time, Osamu was the one who offered an intermittent commentary on their surroundings. Usually people gravitated toward Atsumu or complained that Osamu was too quiet: this was the first time in a while that someone else seemed okay with it. A few times, the boy smirked at things Osamu said before returning a similarly dry observation.

This time when people began to leave and the boy made a move to go, it was Osamu's turn to speak up: "Hey, wait."

The boy paused, looking at Osamu. His eyebrows were raised in a silent question, and Osamu noticed, abruptly, that he wasn't unattractive. "No, I--uh, I wanted to introduce myself. I'm Miya Osamu. My brother and I live with the Ojiros."

"I know," said the boy. "Suna Rintarou."

"Ya _do_?" Osamu asked. It was the last thing he'd expected the boy -- Suna -- to say.

"You're a Miya," Suna said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Everyone here knows about you and your family."

"Why didn't ya say anything?" Osamu asked.

"I figured you'd tell me if you wanted me to know," said Suna, shrugging. "See you again in three months, Miya."

"Ya can call me Osamu, s'weird hearing people call me 'Miya'." Osamu wasn't sure why he bothered, given that he'd probably never see this boy outside of these dumb every-three-month events.

"All right," said Suna. "See you again in three months, Osamu."

  


*

  


Three months after that, Osamu didn't bother asking if he could hang out when he spotted Suna in a dusty corner of the hotel dining room. It was clear that Suna was the sort of person who would have walked off if he'd minded Osamu's presence.

"Suna," Osamu said, settling against the same wall Suna was leaning against.

"Osamu." When Suna glanced at him, Osamu noticed that his eyes were an odd shade of grayish yellow, and that his eyelashes were long and very dark. "Anything about your grieving process change during the past three months?"

"No," said Osamu, solemnly. He was about to add something when he saw Atsumu descending upon their quiet, peaceful corner like a hurricane on the run, and instead heaved out a sigh. "But 'm very sorry for what yer about to experience."

" 'Samu." Atsumu slung an arm around Osamu's shoulders like they hadn't seen each other _literally five minutes before_. "I've been looking everywhere for ya, where've ya been?"

Osamu shrugged him off. "Getting food. What d'ya want, 'Tsumu?"

"Who's yer friend?" Atsumu demanded, wiggling his eyebrows at Osamu like they were semaphore flags. "I've never seen him before."

 _Here we go,_ Osamu thought wearily. He had no illusions: in Atsumu's mind, the two of them were one in all things. Whatever was Osamu's was Atsumu's. Whatever was Atsumu's was . . . well, also Atsumu's.

Most of the time Osamu didn't mind as much as he knew he should. He loved Atsumu, even though Atsumu was an annoying, selfish asshole who Osamu wanted to strangle half the time. Everywhere Atsumu went, so did Osamu, and he was okay with that. They were each the only family the other had: it was fine to share toys, and clothes, and the same friend group.

But sometimes, just sometimes, Osamu wanted something to himself. Once Atsumu realized Osamu was doing something, Atsumu inevitably had to do it as well.

But Suna got there first, before Osamu could make any introductions. "Suna Rintarou. You probably weren't paying attention."

"What," said Atsumu.

"I've been talking to your brother for six months," Suna said, flicking an amused, narrow glance in Osamu's direction. "So if you didn't notice, that's probably on you. I'm sure your brother will be happy to corroborate."

" 'Samu! You've been friends with this guy for _six months_ and ya didn't tell me about him?" Atsumu's mouth fell open in outrage. "I thought we agreed to tell each other everything!"

"I don't tell ya _everything_ , scrub," Osamu said.

"Well, ya should," said Atsumu. He stared at Suna for a moment, his head tilting to one side, and Osamu had to try very hard not to imagine what might be going through his twin's mind. "Nice meeting ya, Suna. I'm Atsumu, the better twin."

"Okay," Suna said.

"Does that mean ya moved here six months ago, then?" Atsumu asked. "Ya don't talk like yer from around here. You're a city boy or something, right? Did your family transfer here or did they-- _ow_ , 'Samu, what're ya hitting me for!"

"Stop harassing him, 'Tsumu," Osamu said. Making eye contact with Suna, he added, "Sorry. 'm really sorry. He's an idiot. Ya don't have to answer that, Suna."

"It's a reasonable question!" Atsumu complained. "Everyone here's got a dead relative! How d'you expect to ever make Special Agent if you don't ask people questions?"

"Just because ya got a question don't mean ya gotta ask it," Osamu snapped.

"Ugh, fine," Atsumu snapped back. "Have fun with your new _friend_ , 'Samu. I'm gonna find somewhere cooler to be." Huffing dramatically like a television drama extra, he wheeled about and stormed off.

Osamu gave it ten minutes before Atsumu forgot about the whole thing.

" 'm so sorry, my brother's an idiot," Osamu said, turning back to Suna. This always happened whenever Osamu tried to talk to someone on his own. Either they liked Atsumu better, or they were horribly offended by Atsumu. Usually Osamu didn't much care, but this time . . . this time, something was different.

"I can tell," Suna said. "Maybe you should give me your number, then."

"Uh--" Osamu began, and then stopped. Had Suna just asked for his phone number? It was seemingly so out-of-nowhere that he had no idea how to respond. Were they even participating in the same conversation?

Suna shrugged, seemingly disinterested, but there was a light flush to his cheeks although his facial expression didn't change at all. "You don't have to, but I figure you could use someone to rant to. Since you live with--" He waved a hand in the general direction of Atsumu. "-- that mess and all. It must get frustrating."

"Oh," Osamu said, fumbling in his pockets. "O-oh, yeah, of course. You should give me yer number too, just in case."

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |O| 5. →**

  
There are degrees of ‘all right’.

Both Osamu and Suna are supposed to be working for Shiratorizawa: it's not out of the question that the organization's newest members might sit by each other in meetings, or nod when they pass each other around Ushijima's estate. It's not unreasonable that they might be friendly.

But Shiratorizawa holds interminable 8 AM Monday meetings that Osamu sits through half-asleep, while Ushijima drones on and on about honour and pride and how some things can only take root in fertile soil. Suna shows up late, drops abruptly into the empty chair between Osamu and Yamagata.

"Mizuno-kun, Yamagata-kun," murmurs Suna.

Osamu keeps looking straight ahead, focusing on what Ohira's saying about the logistics of procuring Russian weaponry. He can't help but notice the light, clean lavender scent of Suna's freshly-washed hair, though, the sheer proximity of Suna's presence. It's like they're teenagers again, a flashback to eighteen. It makes Suna seem like someone who Osamu could be best friends with again, someone other than a Suzuki.

And that isn't something that is any degree of all right when they're both undercover in one of the largest criminal organizations in Japan.

  


*

  


Shiratorizawa debts come due at the beginning of every month, so things always pick up then.

Yamagata and Kawanishi -- and Osamu, by extension -- spend the whole week strong-arming people who won't or can't pay Ushijima the money he's owed. It's day after day of getting up at weird hours to face a mixture of frightened business owners, gamblers who need a little more time, and idiots who think they can talk their way out of anything.

It's driving, mostly. It's standing around while Yamagata or Kawanishi threaten people for their owed money plus compounded interest. It's bruises and broken bones and occasionally worse. It's names and dates and locations to memorize for Kuroo, more victims and evidence for cases that will probably never see court.

It's condensed human misery, and it's exhausting.

When the week's over, Osamu sleeps for a solid, uninterrupted sixteen hours and doesn't think about Suna or the mission or any of it.

But when Osamu wakes up, he goes downstairs and finds Semi bitching to Tendou and Yamagata about the room renovations they're doing for Suna -- something about special electric requirements and Shirabu disrespecting Semi -- and then it comes rushing back, the ins and outs of the situation.

 _Shit,_ Osamu thinks. _How the hell are we going to get out of this one?_

It's not that Osamu doesn't trust Suna. It's that he doesn't trust himself, not when it's one of his closest friends.

Osamu was never supposed to be undercover this long. It's a small miracle he hasn't already been discovered.

"Mizuno-kun," Suna says that evening, watching Osamu watch Goshiki annihilate low ranking Shiratorizawa members over games of Street Fighter. (Osamu's certain most of them are throwing the matches: Goshiki excels in real fights, but subscribes to the school of 'panicked button-mashing' for digital ones.) "I didn't know you were into this sort of thing."

"I'm not," says Osamu.

  


*

  


The property Shiratorizawa uses as their base of operations is large by Japanese standards, consisting of multiple buildings spread over two acres. It's still a property that thirty-something people are working from and living out of, which means a lot of debating is necessary before Shirabu can assign Suna a storage closet within one of Ushijima's guest houses to work out of.

Osamu doesn't want to hear about this because he's trying to keep his distance from anything Suna-related, and also because listening to people talking about construction is boring as hell. He ends up hearing it anyway because Semi will not stop bitching to Yamagata and Tendou.

Suna's busy enough supervising the renovations that Osamu figures he'll stay out of the way, but he still pops up one evening while Osamu's in the living room glancing through street maps of the Osaki Ward.

"Mizuno-kun," Suna says, like they are friendly acquaintances rather than two undercover agents who are supposed to never have met before. "Mizuno-kun, can you please lend me a phone charger?"

(Osamu unplugs his charger from the wall outlet and tosses it in Suna's direction, resisting the urge to fling it right at his head, before picking his maps up and stalking out of the room.)

Suna doesn't stop, is the thing. He should have expected it, Osamu supposes, because he knows exactly what Suna's like.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |H| 6. →**

  
"I assume you know of Aoba Johsai," Kuroo had said, the second time they'd met. The meeting was in Kuroo's office, the desk piled high with folders and signed forms and a truly impressive number of electronic device chargers. "They've been going through leaders like crazy since old man Kitagawa died, but Oikawa Tooru came out on top a few weeks ago."

"I know about Aoba Johsai, but not about Oikawa specifically," said Osamu.

Osamu wasn't a member of the Organized Crime division, but he was tangentially aware of Aoba Johsai's existence in the same way he was _aware_ of the Shiratorizawa and the Utsui-Ushijima crime syndicate. It was impossible not to be, when Aoba Johsai ran one of the larger smuggling operations in Japan, and when their history was one of the case studies everyone learned in basic training.

Kuroo rifled through his desk for a moment before extracting a single, blown-up photograph which he slid across the table to Osamu. It was a candid, taken with a closeup zoom lens, and its subjects were clearly unaware they were being watched. Osamu couldn't tell where the photograph had been taken, but it might have been a loading dock or warehouse of some sort.

There were three men in the photograph. One was standing to one side beside a stack of large plastic crates, talking into a flip mobile phone in a way that suggested intense displeasure. The photograph was centered on the other two, both of whom appeared to be looking at and talking about the first. The dark-haired one was smirking openly. The other was mid-bite into a taiyaki.

"Which one's Oikawa?"

"None of them," said Kuroo. "Any info you can source on Oikawa's great, but he's not your primary target."

 _Target_ , Osamu thought, sliding a fingertip over the photograph's glossy surface. In the bottom right corner, someone had used black marker to write a date two weeks prior. "So it's one of these three then?"

"The one on the phone is Iwaizumi, Oikawa's number two guy. The one eating is Hanamaki, the other's Matsukawa. They started out together when old man Kitagawa was still in charge. Supposedly they're the ones Oikawa trusts the most."

Several decades before, Miyagi had consisted of over twenty different crime families and gangs. Utsui and Kitagawa had both climbed the ranks of their organizations until they respectively led Shiratorizawa and Aoba Johsai, and subsequently forced Miyagi through a multiyear period of brutal gang wars.

Once the dust had settled, only three groups were left standing: Aoba Johsai, Niiyama, and Shiratorizawa.

Osamu knew these things because they were classic case studies he'd had to study in basic training. He also knew them because the investigation culminating in the arrest of many of Shiratorizawa's top people a few years before was the case which had made Kuroo famous.

The arrest of many of Shiratorizawa's top people.

It was _many_ rather than _all_ , because although Kuroo and Nekomata had managed to arrest much of the Shiratorizawa leadership, Utsui Takashi himself had managed to flee the country before the Agency could arrest him.

While Utsui's whereabouts were currently unknown, he was believed to be hiding somewhere abroad.

Aoba Johsai's downfall had been simpler. Out of paranoia (or, some said, a well-deserved abundance of caution), old man Kitagawa had refused to declare an official heir and successor. When he suffered a massive heart attack, his death was unexpected and so was the power vacuum it left behind.

For the past three years, the Aoba Johsai organization had fractured as different factions fought matters out. As far as Osamu knew, Oikawa wasn't a Kitagawa relative. It seemed, somehow, that he'd still managed to rise to the top of Aoba Johsai anyway.

"Look, Miya," said Kuroo, exhaling sharply. "I'll be honest, Hibarida doesn't think Seijoh should be a priority. He wants to wait until Oikawa's more settled before sending in Yaku or Kai, but I'm worried Seijoh'll be too established by that point. Oikawa's a sharp guy. That's where you come in."

"Ya want me to go in there while the organization's still unstable after Oikawa's takeover to scout things out for ya," said Osamu, his mind working quickly through the logic. "That's why yer saying there's a time crunch, 'cause ya need me to get in there while things're still a mess."

"Basically, yeah," said Kuroo, tapping his pen against his desk. "Your role's secondary, due to your lack of undercover experience. You'll go in while Seijoh's desperate to recruit anyone, ingratiate yourself to Oikawa's buddies, source whatever info you can find. Figure out a good cover story for my guy when he deploys in two or three months, and then we'll pull you out. I'll be happy 'cause my guy's in there safe and sound, you'll be happy 'cause you get your Special Agent promotion. It's a win-win situation."

"If I'm establishing your guy's cover story, who's establishing _my_ cover story?" asked Osamu.

"Your cover story doesn't have to be as tight as Yaku or Kai's because you're not trying to position yourself high in Seijoh," said Kuroo. "You're not trying to impress Oikawa, you're just the guy who drives cars for them and beats up people in exchange for some wages. Maybe every once in a while you'll grab a drink with Hanamaki or Matsukawa, maybe not."

For the second time that week, Osamu remembered Atsumu's complaints about Kuroo: _'Samu, I know ya think I'm exaggeratin' but if ya ever talk to him, you'll get what I'm talkin' about. He talks like he's going to try and bilk ya out of all your savings!_

The thought made something in Osamu's chest ache. It wasn't that Osamu couldn't function without Atsumu: he'd done it many times before, for weeks or months at a time when Atsumu was working with the Jackals. Osamu had worked many cases of his own solo.

But this was the first time Osamu had agreed to such a major assignment without so much as mentioning it to Atsumu. There was a part of Osamu that felt strange about that, even though there was no reason he should. He and Atsumu were separate individuals: they had distinct interests, likes, and dislikes.

 _'Tsumu's right,_ Osamu thought absently, looking at Kuroo's heartfelt, sincere stare, _he really does talk like a conman._

But even if Kuroo sounded like a con artist, Osamu knew, he was still right about one thing. Working under Moniwa in the Financial Crimes division was mindnumbingly boring.

Osamu wasn't _as_ obsessed with becoming a Special Agent as Atsumu had been, but given the choice between three short months driving cars for the mob, versus another year or two of paper pushing before Hibarida decided Osamu was ready to be promoted?

It wasn't much of a choice.

Atsumu would have done the exact same thing if it'd been him that Kuroo was offering the Special Agent promotion to, Osamu knew. Atsumu would have done anything for the opportunity. Osamu could do no less.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |P| 7. →**

  
Things come to a head a few days later, while Osamu and Kawanishi are waiting outside the Shiratorizawa house for Goshiki. Like usual, Goshiki's running late. Osamu fully expects Goshiki to show up ten minutes late, red-faced and out-of-breath.

"Mizuno-kun," says Suna, walking right up to them even though it's way too early in the morning for this shit. "I haven't seen much of you lately. How've you been?"

"Fine." Osamu can feel Kawanishi's disinterested stare on the side of his face like a laser sight. "Didja want something?"

"Just to say hello," Suna says. "Ohira-kun says I should ask you for personal advice on hand-to-hand sparring techniques."

The words come out like Suna couldn't care less, but Osamu knows Suna well enough to spot the lazy underpinnings of amusement. It's the same tone Osamu's heard from Suna a thousand times before, usually when the embarrassing photographs are just about to begin.

It's not anything that Osamu ever expected to hear as a member of Shiratorizawa.

This time when Osamu glances at Suna, Suna's staring right back.

 _Your move_ , is what that look says.

It's not something anyone else would pick up, but Osamu's known Suna long enough to interpret every smirk and bored sidelong glance that Suna can produce. Osamu knows his only choice is to acquiesce before Suna makes a scene.

"We can talk about it later," Osamu says. "I've got to take Goshiki and Kawanishi somewhere in a bit."

"Tonight then." The words come out so smoothly that Osamu knows Suna was expecting it. "Come find me when you're free, I'll be up late anyway. You know where I work, right? The space Shirabu renovated for me?"

"Yeah," says Osamu, and doesn't look after Suna as he walks off. It's not relevant.

( "Personal advice on hand-to-hand sparring, really?" Kawanishi says later when they're in the car.

Osamu pretends he didn't hear anything. )

  


*

  


Here is the thing: Osamu is in over his head. He knows this.

His cover was never intended to withstand close examination. It's only sheer dumb luck that Osamu hasn't let something about the Agency slip already.

It's one thing for Osamu to risk his own life if he fucks up in front of Ushijima. It's another thing entirely to risk Suna's as well.

  


*

  


"Mizuno-kun," Suna says that night when Osamu opens the door to the small, stifling once-closet that Suna's carved out to work in, "so you didn't forget who I am."

It's late. It's very late. It's so late that it's no longer late, but early.

Osamu probably didn't need to wait so long. He got back from his last run -- Yamagata and a couple clients who were late on their payments -- two hours before.

Osamu will be dead on his feet when he gets up in a couple hours, but at least it's late enough now that Suna -- and possibly Tendou, but there's nothing Osamu can do about that, because Tendou never seems to sleep -- is probably the only other person awake in Shiratorizawa. There is that much at least.

Suna is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Once Osamu slides the door shut, it's apparent how oppressively small the room really is.

Clotheslines are suspended from the ceiling, sheets of paper and plastic hanging off every which way. There's a distinct odour of glue and plastic, intermingled with paint thinner. To complete the bizarre feel, the entire room is lit by blue LEDs, giving everything an alien unearthliness.

When Osamu sits, he has to do so gingerly so as to not collide with the spiderweb-like network of clotheslines and fake documents.

"The hell's wrong with ya? Sparring?"

"It worked, didn't it? You're here now." The lighting's dim enough that Osamu can't see Suna's expression, but he doesn't need it to know the flat, unimpressed way Suna is staring back now. "I figured you'd pretend I was invisible for the next year if I didn't say something first."

"We don't know each other," Osamu snaps. "We've never met before. Ya should know that, and maybe act like it too."

"The only thing I know," Suna says levelly, "is that you're acting like a crazy person. I'm not interested in your case."

"Are ya fucking serious, Sunarin," Osamu snaps, before he realizes what he's said and falters.

A sudden, awful jolt of adrenaline slashes through him. If the room's bugged, or if Washijou or Tendou happen to overhear--

This is the first time in months Osamu's talked to someone who isn't Kuroo or his handler, and he blew it in the span of a couple sentences. This is exactly why he was avoiding Suna.

"Relax, it's not bugged," Suna says. "I guess we're both fucked if it is, but I swept the room myself."

Dimly, Osamu sees Suna's silhouette turn to the wall and fiddle with something there before the room transitions from a lurid blue to a barely visible red to a final regular light. After the previous dim illumination, normal light is almost blinding. Osamu has to blink several times before his eyes can adjust.

"Ya sure?" Osamu asks. "If you're wrong--"

"I spent three years studying covert surveillance techniques in Survcomm," Suna says, sounding mildly offended. "This is the most secure three square meters in all of Miyagi. There's complete Faraday cage coverage, and broad spectrum jamming in place. Nobody's listening."

"Fine, fine," Osamu concedes. He rolls his shoulders and cracks them, trying to loosen the tension knots that have formed. "You're the expert here, I believe ya."

"I know we're not as close as we used to be," Suna says, and there's a flash of something that might be hurt beneath the surface of his blank expression and flat, even tone. "But I thought you'd trust me enough to not steal your mission out from underneath you."

Osamu stares at Suna. Suna stares back, eyes narrowed.

Suna taking the credit for Osamu's mission. Is that what Suna thinks this is about? Osamu wants to laugh. The thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"That's not -- I've never thought you were like that," Osamu says. "I'd never think that."

"Then what's the deal?" asks Suna, blunt. " 'cause I've been undercover two weeks, and you've probably said twenty words to me in that entire time."

"We've known each other a while," Osamu starts, and then stops. _My brain literally shuts down whenever you're around and I'm afraid I might blow our cover because I'm in over my head on this mission_ is a complete non-option. So is _I've known you since we were sixteen and been hung up on you for at least half that time._

Osamu settles, instead, on: "We're both supposed to be the new guys here. I thought it'd look suspicious if we were too friendly."

The reasoning sounds stupid in Osamu's head. It sounds stupider once he's said it aloud.

" 'm sorry," he says, simply. "I guess I've been undercover too long and I got stuck in my own head."

Suna looks at him for a few seconds, gaze assessing, before he shrugs easily. "Okay."

This time the silence they fall into is comfortable, not tense and fraught like before. Osamu uses the time to study Suna: the curve of his jawline, the curved arch of his upper lip. At sixteen, Suna was bored and pretty, at eighteen, Osamu's best friend. At twenty-four, he's finally grown into himself, but he's still pretty in a way Osamu can feel like a blow.

"Why are you even working undercover?" Suna asks quietly. It's apparent from the too-slow way the words come out just how tired Suna is. Osamu pushes down the slight twitch of guilt at making him stay up so late. "I figured you were in the field when Gin said he couldn't get in touch, but I wasn't expecting-- this."

"It's a long story," says Osamu. "Why are _you_ working undercover?"

"It's a long story," Suna says, the corner of his mouth twisting up. "Good thing we're both stuck here, you'll have plenty of time to tell me then." And before Osamu can voice any protests, he adds abruptly, "Tell me some other time, not now. Right now I'm going the fuck to bed."

The way the words come out is incongruously normal, like they're still teenagers and Suna's crashing hard after staying up too late for movie marathon. The easy familiarity of it makes Osamu's chest ache.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |C| 8. →**

  
"What do you think you'll do after graduation?" Suna had said over webcam, at the start of their final year of high school. Atsumu had been off somewhere pestering Aran and Kita, so it had been Osamu by himself in their small bedroom.

"Join the Agency with 'Tsumu," said Osamu. It was what the two of them had been talking about since they'd been kids. "See which of us can make Special Agent first, I guess, and then which of us is better."

"You ever think about college?" Suna asked.

"No point." There had been career advice forms to fill out, and teachers at school who'd asked, but Osamu had had that route decided for him long before he began high school. "I'd just be pushing Special Agent back four years for no reason, and 'Tsumu'd throw a fit. You?"

"Might join the Agency too," Suna said, shrugging. It was the first time he'd mentioned it to Osamu. "We can't all be like you and Atsumu, you know? But I'd be okay doing something else too."

  


*

  


It was so easy for Atsumu.

In high school Atsumu'd had girlfriends, and then after joining the Agency there had been Sakusa. Atsumu was loud in a way Osamu had never been, fearless; Atsumu wanted things in a way Osamu had never had. Sometimes Osamu would just watch Atsumu walking around their apartment, talking brightly on the phone to Sakusa or someone else.

It wasn't that Osamu wanted Sakusa, or that he resented Atsumu's success.

Osamu knew how hard Atsumu worked. It was a mystery to Osamu how Atsumu had managed to land Sakusa, but Osamu saw the way they looked at each other. Osamu wasn't an asshole, he wanted his brother to be happy.

It was just that Atsumu saw things he wanted and wasn't afraid to go after them.

It was just that Atsumu had known since they were six years old what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

Osamu wanted that for himself: the weird, bone-deep confidence his brother possessed, the belief that everything would be worth it in the end.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |Q| 9. →**

  
Suna settles into Shiratorizawa like he was made for the life. Osamu supposes it makes sense. Suna would never have been promoted to Special Agent or assigned an undercover mission at the level of Shiratorizawa if he weren't capable.

Osamu's not an idiot. He does understand the concept of being undercover and pretending to be a different person than you really are.

It's still a surprise every time Osamu runs into Suna outside the safe context of Suna's little closet-as-forging-workshop. It's fucking bizarre to find Suna in the Shiratorizawa kitchen talking excitedly to Tendou and Kawanishi about knives. The juxtaposition of the bored Suna who couldn't be bothered to practice hand-to-hand combat and all the other things Special Agents are supposed to master, versus this pod person enthusing about sharp objects and which metal alloys are the best to throw.

"Mizuno-kun," says Suna, amused when Osamu lingers a little too long. It earns him a glance from Kawanishi and Tendou. "Didn't know ya were into this kinda thing." Suna's voice trails lazily over the syllables, a parody of the way Osamu speaks.

Osamu looks at the spread of throwing knives on the table so he won't have to look at Suna's face.

" 'm not. Just didn't know ya were into knives."

Without looking, Osamu pulls a drink can from the Shiratorizawa refrigerator and cracks it open. Hopefully it's something that tastes normal. Most drinks inside are standard beer or soda or chuhai, but sometimes Tendou purchases bizarre flavours like 'ice cucumber' and 'pancake batter' to fuck with people. 

"Knives are sexy and hot," Suna says, deadpan. "Sexy and hot like fire. Especially when they're well-balanced and made out of carbon steel."

"Truth, brother," says Tendou, holding out a fist for Suna to bump. Kawanishi doesn't say anything, but he nods in agreement. The experience is particularly surreal because Osamu has seen them both kill people with knives on multiple previous occasions.

 _What the fuck,_ Osamu thinks, and decides he's going to pretend this conversation never happened.

"Since when're ya friends with Tendou?" Osamu asks Suna later that night, when it's just the two of them in Suna's dumb closet of a workspace. Apparently Shiratorizawa and Niiyama have made a deal concerning fake passports, and now the already-claustrophobic room is crammed to capacity with documents and passports and two very tall undercover agents.

Suna's sitting very close to Osamu, their knees almost touching. Osamu looks away.

"Tendou's not so bad," Suna says. There's a smirk hidden deep in the way the words come out, the same amused, shit-eating way that Suna used to tell Atsumu that “of _course_ blonde is a great look if you're a fan of _jaundice_ ”. "He's a better conversationalist than Kawanishi."

"Tendou's fuckin' crazy. Like -- really crazy, ya know? When I started here he tortured a guy to death." The experience made a distinct impression on Osamu, because it was one of the first things he saw when he went undercover. Sometimes he thinks he'll never be able to forget it.

"He's Ushijima's closest friend." Tonight the room's lighting is red and turned down so low that Osamu can't see anything of Suna but a shadow. Osamu doesn't need to see it to know the lazy way Suna's half-shrugging right now. "He's got good taste in anime, too."

"Since when are ya into anime?"

"Ever since I found out Ushijima's closest friend is into anime." The smirk in Suna's voice is even more pronounced than it was before. Suna's enjoying this, Osamu realizes, the entire business of working undercover and pretending to be somebody else. The thought sends a pang of guilt through Osamu, though he's not quite sure why.

  


*

  


"Atsumu's doing well, but you didn't hear it from me," Suna says on a different night in the tiny closet. He's staring at a laptop screen, the image editing software he's using reflecting back onto his face. The words catch Osamu by surprise.

" _What?_ " Atsumu is the last thing Osamu expected Suna to mention. "You talked to 'Tsumu?"

"No, Jackals're all working deep cover," Suna says. "I think they're still on the same mission they started before you left? The one in Brazil? Apparently Atsumu's annoying the shit out of Sakusa, but that's not anything new, so."

Deep cover. It means Atsumu and his team are on the same need-to-know-only, communications-through-the-handler-only security level that Osamu is on now.

As far as Atsumu knows, Osamu's still back in the Financial Crimes division scrutinizing white-collar crime and carrying out tax audits.

As far as Osamu knows, Atsumu's -- well. Osamu didn't know until now.

It's not like Osamu lies awake worrying about Atsumu worrying about him. But somehow, the reminder that Atsumu is flying just as blind as Osamu is helps.

"Thank you," says Osamu, before the rest of Suna's words sink in. "Wait, if Jackals're under deep cover, then how do you know?"

"I heard it from someone," says Suna, vaguely. "Just, you know. Around. You probably shouldn't repeat that, by the way." It's the same vague tone Suna's always used for gossip, all the things Suna heard from a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend that still end up being true. Osamu decides to give him the benefit of the doubt this time as well.

  


*

  


"For the record--" Suna starts abruptly, another night, as he rifles quickly through bundles of waybills and manifests. For once the lighting in the tiny closet is the standard stuff, the fluorescent bulbs turning Suna's skin sallow.

It takes a moment for Osamu to focus on Suna. That day was particularly long and tedious, culminating with a multiple-targets contract kill that had very specific conditions. Osamu never enjoyed contract killings but Semi was efficient at what he did, if a bit curt.

No, the problem with that night's run had come with the 'multiple targets' and the 'specific conditions'. Semi preferred people stay out of his way, which meant working with him was a matter of driving the car there and back. 'Multiple targets', however, meant a second hitman was necessary. That night, it was Tendou, someone who got the job done, but in a way that was the opposite of 'efficient and curt'. 

'Specific conditions' for a contract murder were anything the client was willing to pay extra for. The number of targets in conjunction with the unusual terms had meant Osamu couldn't wait in the car like he normally did. Osamu wore gloves, and showered after returning, but he can still feel the phantom sensation of blood and entrails against his skin.

"For the record--?" Osamu prompts after Suna doesn't continue, seemingly trailing off into nothing.

"For the record, I'm glad you're here," Suna says. "Not the part about, you know. Ushijima and Shiratorizawa and all that, obviously. But if somebody else had to get stuck undercover with me, I'm glad it was you."

Osamu just looks at him, the familiarity of Suna's mouth and eyes and slouch.

"Me too," says Osamu, and breathes.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |I| 10. →**

  
Things moved quickly after Osamu's second meeting with Kuroo. Osamu had expected it: there weren't _that_ many ways to interpret the words 'if you agree, you'll be leaving sometime this week'.

It was still a surprise just how quickly things moved forward.

Even if Kozume was good at what he did, building a new life from scratch seemed like something that ought to have taken far longer than thirty-six hours.

"I doubt any of them will look too closely into you." Kuroo shuffled rapidly through a stack of printouts without looking at Osamu. "You're not anyone special. Mostly they'll want to know if you're supporting a drug habit by stealing from them, or if you'll be getting into fights you shouldn't be, that sort of thing. You should keep the accent, by the way, it adds a nice note of realism."

"Thanks," Osamu said, doing his best (and, he knew, failing) to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Means a lot t'me, seeing as it's real."

He'd thought the response might elicit some annoyance, but it didn't earn Osamu anything except a sideways glance that was half-amusement and half-condescension before Kuroo focused back on the multiple stacks of files and dossiers spread out in front of him.

"Remember to keep it simple," Kuroo said. "You're there to collect a paycheck. The more details you give, the more likely you'll fuck something up. If they give you the choice, work with Matsukawa over Hanamaki, and Hanamaki over Iwaizumi. Whatever else, avoid Oikawa."

"Okay," said Osamu, who had no intention of interacting with Oikawa.

"I mean that, Miya." Kuroo's stare was sharp. "I know you kids are ambitious, but it's not worth it. Oikawa might be a pretty boy, but he didn't get to the top by being pretty. There's a reason I'm not sending Yaku in blind."

"Okay," repeated Osamu.

"These are dossiers on known Seijoh members. Memorize them." Kuroo pushed a stack of documents across the table at Osamu. The second stack to get pushed across was: "Possibly relevant case files. Some are closed, others have a suspect but not enough evidence."

Osamu took the document stacks without saying anything.

When Kuroo raked a hand through his hair, it stuck up even more than before. "You'll meet your handler tomorrow, so everything will go through him. Most likely we'll pull you out at the two month mark, but you should plan for three months just in case. Do you have any questions?"

“Maybe once I've read through everything." Osamu paused for a few seconds, thinking his way carefully through a tangle of words. "Actually, I do have one personal request--"

"About Atsumu?" The response was immediate.

"Nah, 'Tsumu'll be fine," said Osamu. The words earned a gratifying look of surprise from Kuroo, the first emotion Osamu had seen from him that wasn't boredom, exhaustion, or amused condescension. "This is about Ojiro Aran. I know ya weren't his direct supervisor, but you've worked with him before, right?"

With the exception of Meian's elite strike teams like the Jackals and Hornets, most Special Agents tended to work closely with whatever Agency division a given assignment or mission required. Aran never talked to Osamu about his cases, but it would have been impossible for Aran to _not_ have worked with Kuroo at some point, given that Kuroo was the section chief of Major Crimes.

"I've worked with Ojiro and Kiryuu before, yes," Kuroo said, his gaze bright and golden and very thoughtful. "Ojiro's one of the best the Agency has. What happened was very unfortunate."

"Yeah," said Osamu, because it was. There wasn't anything else to be said. "Medical thinks Aran'll make a full recovery, but it might take up to a year. I know ya can't tell them details, but could ya please make sure someone checks on Aran and his husband Kita while I'm gone? I just. I want to make sure they're doing all right."

"Of course," said Kuroo, steadily. "I'll see to it myself."

  


*

  


From a personal standpoint, there wasn't much for Osamu to take care of before leaving. Against his better judgement, Osamu shared a Agency-owned two-bedroom apartment with Atsumu. The Agency paid Osamu well, and Atsumu better: their rent was automatically deducted from their bank account, as were the assorted utility bills.

Neither of them owned pets or house plants.

Despite what Osamu had told Kuroo, he did consider visiting Kita and Aran. The thought was extremely brief: Kita had no security clearances, but he was tenacious and had a sixth sense for sniffing things out. If Kita saw Osamu, he'd immediately be able to tell that something was wrong, and then he'd drag Aran into it, and they'd both say Osamu was being hasty and taking unnecessary risks and the whole thing would just be a mess.

No, this was clearly one of those situations where it was better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. 

Other than Kita and Aran, Osamu couldn't think of anyone else to notify. Apart from Atsumu, everyone Osamu was related to was either dead or didn't speak Japanese. Talking to anyone in the Ojiro family was the same thing as talking to Aran. There were Gin and Suna, but they were both in Tottori, and it would have been weird for Osamu to contact them like this after so long.

It was fine, Osamu told himself. It was three months at the most. Osamu would be back before anybody noticed.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |R| 11. →**

  
"Yo, Suzuki," says Yamagata when he and Osamu walk into the Shiratorizawa kitchen late one evening. "Good to see you're not dead yet."

"Good to see you're not dead yet either," Suna replies levelly, raising his drink to Yamagata in a mock-toast. The bored way he says it is familiar, as is the sideways slant to his mouth when he looks at Osamu. "Mizuno-kun, you want a beer?"

"Sure," says Osamu, catching the can Suna tosses at him. "Something happen today?"

"Ushijima's annoyed that things aren't moving faster." Suna makes a slight face. "Washijo's annoyed on general principle. Same shit as always."

"Tsutomu ran into some Seijoh guys this afternoon," Yamagata says, and Osamu looks up, startled. It's been a while since he's had to think about Aoba Johsai. "He's fine, I'm pretty sure Tsutomu gave them more trouble than they gave him, but Washijo's not happy."

"Huh," Suna says. "I thought they usually weren't that aggressive."

"They aren't, at least not since old man Kitagawa died." Yamagata shrugs. "Oikawa must be doing a great job gassing them up or something."

  


*

  


The thing Osamu doesn't know how to explain to anybody, least of all himself, is how odd it is to hear about Aoba Johsai. He knows he should be delighted for the opportunity: Shiratorizawa is the sort of case that can make a career.

No one in Aoba Johsai is a good person, but Ushijima and Shiratorizawa are on a different level.

Atsumu would be ecstatic to go after a ' _real_ bad guy' like Ushijima, Osamu knows. Aoba Johsai is barely a speedbump on the way to Shiratorizawa.

But every time Osamu hears news about Seijoh, or spots a Seijoh member out and about Miyagi, he doesn't think 'that was a mission I worked on once' like he knows he should. Instead the only thing he can think is endless could-have-beens and should-have-beens. The flip-side of reality, the road not taken, the three-months-and-out Osamu was promised once.

If things had gone differently, well. If things had gone differently, Osamu might be working with Hanamaki and Matsukawa now, and facing down Semi and Tendou. If things had gone differently, Osamu might already be home by now, boring Miya Osamu once again.

  


*

  


Suna's different as Suzuki. They have different likes, dislikes, and pasts: Suzuki has a penchant for throwing knives that Suna never had, a certain childhood obsession with arson. Suzuki isn't someone with two dead Special Agent parents, or an obsession with FPS video games.

It should be easy for Osamu to remember. It should be.

But it isn't, when Osamu's faced with the same pretty eyes and mouth, the same caustic sense of humor, the same tendency to be quiet.

Osamu can't get past it, the way that Suzuki isn't the same person as Suna Rintarou, but Osamu still can't look away.

  


*

  


It's fine, Osamu thinks. They're both professionals. Osamu knows how to compartmentalize, and so does Suna. What is he so worried about?

  


*

  


"Good job on the Counterterrorism thing, Miya," Teshiro says at the end of their next debriefing as he shuffles through the files and papers he brought. "I'll be honest, I didn't expect it from you."

"What Counterterrorism thing?"

"Iizuna's guy from Counterterrorism," says Teshiro, impatient. "The one you asked me about a couple weeks back. Counterterrorism's been debating whether or not to pull him out 'cause they were worried you'd blow his cover wide open and cause the rest of us a major interdepartmental headache."

"Oh, that guy." Osamu's trying to figure out where this is going so he can get ahead of it. "What about him?"

"I guess you do know how to listen. He reported to his handler a few days ago not to pull him out. Apparently he's only seen you two or three times since his assignment started, so there's a low risk of either of you compromising the other's mission."

"Yeah, I overreacted before," Osamu says, completely on autopilot. _Suna said what?_ "Sorry about that, turns out we work on pretty different things so I never see him."

"Well, don't start getting any _ideas_ ," says Teshiro, standing. "I'll see you in two weeks, Miya."

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |J| 12. →**

  
The Cadiz was a bar in the Tenza Ward, a known drinking spot for Aoba Johsai members. Normally undercover agents would be introduced to their targets via confidential informant or another undercover agent, but the newness and instability of Oikawa's Aoba Johsai tenure made this impossible.

"It's not a big deal," Kuroo had told Osamu. "Seijoh lost so many people in the past couple years that they can't afford to be selective when it comes to recruiting."

Osamu hoped Kuroo wasn't wrong.

The first day Osamu went by the Cadiz, he didn't see anyone from Seijoh. He still spent three hours in the bar anyway, slowly sipping a Gugutto Nama beer that looked like piss and tasted worse. It was the sort of thing Atsumu would have flatly refused to drink, undercover or not.

Osamu drank the whole thing. It seemed like the sort of thing a Mizuno Kaede would drink.

  


*

  


Osamu saw Kindaichi Yuutarou and Kunimi Akira and Hanamaki Takahiro and Yuda Kaneo on the afternoon of the second day. Kindaichi and Hanamaki were playing pool in a quiet corner of the Cadiz, while the other two looked on.

Yuda and Kindaichi would be easy, Osamu thought, going through his mental catalogue of Aoba Johsai dossiers. Yuda was a thug who only cared about being paid well, while Kindaichi was loyal but also someone who didn't think too deeply about anything.

It was the other two Seijoh members that Osamu worried about. Hanamaki and Kunimi were definitely not people who took things on face value.

If Osamu walked up and offered to buy Kindaichi a drink apropos of nothing, Kindaichi would go with it. If he offered to buy one for Hanamaki or Kunimi, Osamu was very likely to end up with a bullet in his head, or at the very least a gun pointed in his face.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" asked an unfamiliar voice from just behind Osamu's shoulder. Its owner was dark-haired and shorter than Osamu, leaning too far into Osamu's personal space. A blond man who looked distinctly unimpressed with the speaker was flanking him.

"Yes." Osamu tried to remember if he'd seen any of them in Aoba Johsai dossiers. "Why d'you ask?"

"I knew it!" The words came out too loud, an impressive achievement given that they were currently in the midst of a crowded bar. Smirking, the man added, "Only someone new to Miyagi would be interested in those guys."

"Tsutomu." The blond man shot Osamu a wary look. Relatively short, he had dark-tipped blonde hair in a clearly bottle-produced hue, and a facial expression that screamed exasperation. "Don't cause trouble."

"What? It's true." 'Tsutomu' pulled out the chair next to Osamu and sat, seemingly unaffected by the unpleasant screeching its legs produced as they scraped against the bar floor. "You want us to introduce you to them? The Seijoh guys, I mean?"

"Ya know them?" Osamu's interest was piqued. Things would be much simpler if Goshiki could introduce him to Kunimi or Hanamaki.

"Well, yeah, of _course_ ," Goshiki said it like Osamu was an idiot for suggesting otherwise. "Why do you wanna talk to them?"

" 'm looking for a job," said Osamu. "I'm pretty new to Miyagi -- had to get out of Hyogo in a rush, didn't have time to line up a new opportunity -- but I heard those guys were looking for people."

"Well, what kind of work are you interested in?" Goshiki seemed excited at the prospect, leaning forward in his seat at a sharp angle. "Heavy lifting? Driver? Hitman?"

"Tsutomu," repeated the blond man. "This is inappropriate."

"It's fine, it's fine!" Goshiki said. "Don't worry so much, Semi-san, I can tell our friend--"

"Mizuno," Osamu said, in response to Goshiki's querying look.

"--our friend Mizuno knows how to keep his mouth shut." Goshiki's smirk was very sharp as he leaned forward, sending his dark hair swishing. "I'm Goshiki Tsutomu, and that's Semi-san! So? What kind of work are you looking for? We'd be glad to help you out."

" _Tsutomu_ ," Semi's tone implied he was going through a great deal of mental pain. "You really don't have to introduce us."

"I'm happy doing whatever they're looking for. I was a part of Rokon--" Osamu's official cover story, an organization in Kobe which had been dissolved a few months prior. "--for a couple years back in Hyogo, so I've done most things by now."

"Yeah? You a good driver?"

"Good enough. 's that what they're looking for?"

"They're looking for a lot of things." Goshiki's laughter as he got to his feet was snide, but he waited for Osamu to stand. "All right, let's go chat. Semi-san, you coming?"

"I'm not helping you explain this to Wakatoshi," Semi said, but he followed Goshiki as well, his facial expression screaming how very much he did not want to be there.

Although the Cadiz was packed, people seemed eager to move out of the way as their small group passed through the crowds. It was unnerving: Osamu had the feeling he was missing something important.

Kunimi was the first to notice them. Although his bored, sleepy expression didn't shift, he jabbed what looked like a sharp elbow into Kindaichi's side. Whatever Kunimi said got the attention of the other Seijoh members: even Hanamaki looked up abruptly.

"You kids lost?" Hanamaki asked, looking amused.

"Mizuno, Hanamaki. Hanamaki, Mizuno," Goshiki said. Hanamaki didn't seem to care when Goshiki stepped closer, but Kindaichi and Yuda both visibly tensed, the latter reaching into his pockets for what presumably was a concealed weapon.

"Nice to meet you, Mizuno-kun." Although Hanamaki was smiling, there was nothing friendly about the way he looked at Osamu and Goshiki. "Something we can help you with today?"

The way the surrounding crowd was whispering sent a second, uneasy jolt of nerves through Osamu. It seemed far too much for a casual meeting, even if one party was Aoba Johsai.

"Mizuno's looking for a job and heard you were looking," said Goshiki, "but I think he could do a lot better than Seijoh."

"Excuse me?" said Kindaichi, stepping forward.

"I think there's four of us and three of you," said Hanamaki, flashing a peace sign. "So maybe you should watch your manners." He said it humorously, like it was a joke between friends.

"Three of us are as good as six of you," said Goshiki, clenching his fists and taking another step forward.

 _What the fuck_ , Osamu thought.

". . . . what the fuck," mumbled Semi, who seemed to be of a similar opinion.

"You wanna try?" Yuda asked. He was a tall man with longish brown hair, and the way his hands were hidden was making Osamu very nervous.

"I think there's a misunderstanding," Osamu began, trying to salvage the situation even though it was clearly beyond the point of salvaging. "We're not trying to cause trouble."

"Oh?" Hanamaki asked. He was still smiling, but there was a distinct edge to it as he looked at Osamu, and then at Goshiki. "Because it seems to me like you're on Seijoh land now. Seems like a bit of trouble, no?"

If the Cadiz had bouncers, they'd been smart enough to make themselves scarce, and the rest of the bar's staff seemed uninterested in getting involved. Osamu glanced around the watching crowd warily.

"You don't belong here," said Kindaichi, leaning back against the wall. Just like Yuda, it was impossible to see Kindaichi's hands. "This is Seijoh territory."

 _Fuck_ , Osamu thought. He knew how to fight with guns, he knew how to fight with knives, he was excellent at hand-to-hand combat, but somehow this sort of thing had never come up in basic training.

"This is stupid," said Kunimi abruptly, jumping to his feet. Ignoring Goshiki and Osamu, Kunimi walked up to Semi. "Your friend needs to know when to shut up."

"I'm aware," said Semi. The way he rubbed his forehead implied a bad headache, although it was unclear whether it was internal or Goshiki-produced.

"Get him out of our bar before we run out of patience," Kunimi said. His voice never shifted away from its flat, bored tone. "Unless you'd rather Kindaichi deal with him."

"What do you mean, _your_ bar--" Goshiki began. The exclamation was cut off abruptly when Semi took a few steps in his direction and grabbed Goshiki's shoulder. Although Goshiki was much taller, Semi didn't seem to care. Osamu could see his knuckles turning white where he gripped Goshiki tightly.

"Please excuse us," Semi said, nodding politely to Kunimi and Hanamaki. "I'm very sorry about the trouble." Semi began to steer Goshiki toward the bar's entrance, and Osamu stared after them and the way the bar's patrons were parting before them like the sea.

"That means you too, little eagle," Hanamaki said, glancing at Osamu.

"I'm not with them," said Osamu.

"Well, you're not with us either," said Hanamaki. "Yuda?"

Yuda pulled a switchblade out of his pocket, opening it. It was clear from his expression that he would have been happy if Osamu gave him an excuse to use it.

No matter what Atsumu said, Osamu wasn't _stupid_. He got to his feet and hurried after Goshiki and Kawanishi.

"I had it under control, Semi-san." Goshiki's arms were crossed sulkily across his chest where he stood in the bar's parking lot. The sleek black sedan he was standing next to was incongruously nice compared to the other cars in the lot, most of which could have been described at best as 'rundown'. "There was no reason for you to--"

"What is _wrong_ with you." Now that they were outside and nobody from Aoba Johsai was around to hear it, Semi's tone was clearly furious. "What do you think Wakatoshi's going to say?" He fumbled in his pockets for a moment before unlocking the black sedan. "Get in the car, we're going back now." Snapping a quick glance at Osamu, Semi added, "You too, Mizuno-kun."

"What--" Osamu began. The name Wakatoshi sounded unpleasantly familiar.

"They think you're Shiratorizawa too," said Semi, his dark gaze flickering over Osamu. "It's the same to me whether or not they shoot you, but I'd suggest getting in the car now because I doubt they're gonna hire you." He opened the driver's side door, then said pointedly to Goshiki, " _You_ can explain to Wakatoshi why we're recruiting a new member."

Semi was right, Osamu knew. If Aoba Johsai believed Osamu was a part of Shiratorizawa, the very slight chance he'd had before of getting a job was now non-existent. The only thing he could do was get into Semi's car and hope for the best.

  


*

  


"The mission's off," Osamu said, walking into the small and dingy love hotel room Teshiro had picked for their first debriefing. The room only had one chair, which Teshiro was already occupying, so the only place for Osamu to sit was the bed. It was a remarkably ugly bed, even by love hotel standards, covered in imitation pink satin bedding with faux white polyester fur.

Gingerly, Osamu sat and tried not to think about when the bedding might last have been cleaned.

"What's your mission status?" Teshiro asked, frowning at Osamu. Osamu had immediately disliked the man when they'd first met outside Kuroo's office, and he was certain the feeling was mutual.

"Like I said, the mission's off."

"I didn't ask if it's on or off," said Teshiro condescendingly. "Tell me what your current _status_ is, Miya."

If Atsumu had been there, he would almost certainly have told the man to go fuck himself. It was likely Atsumu would have thrown in a dig or two about the number of times Teshiro had failed to become a Special Agent, and therefore wasn't in a position to condescend to anybody.

"The current status is that there's no way to complete the mission as planned," said Osamu. "Aoba Johsai's under the impression that I'm a member of Shiratorizawa, which is kind of their biggest enemy, so--"

"Excuse me?" Teshiro was staring at Osamu like he couldn't believe his ears. That was fine, Osamu couldn't believe his ears either and he was the one saying the words in question. "What do you mean they think you're a member of Shiratorizawa."

"I fucked up," Osamu said abruptly, wanting the whole thing over with quickly. "I got a job with the wrong fuckin' gang, all right? So ya might as well pull me out now, 'cause there's no way Aoba Johsai's gonna let me anywhere near 'em."

"You got a job with Shiratorizawa? Doing _what_?"

"What's it matter? Same thing I was s'posed to do for Seijoh, drive and be muscle for them. General criminal-type stuff."

"Interesting," said Teshiro, which was not at all what Osamu wanted to hear. "Request to withdraw denied, I need to talk to Kuroo about this. We'll discuss this at your next debriefing in a few weeks."

"This ain't even the mission I signed up for," Osamu said, furious. "Kuroo recruited me to get info on Seijoh, not on Shiratorizawa."

"It's not the mission I signed up for either," said Teshiro, and there was a sharp, interested gleam in his eye that Osamu was immediately wary of. "But we don't always get what we want, do we?"

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |S| 13. →**

  
In the end, when it finally happens, it's hardly a surprise.

Osamu's in one of the gardening sheds on the edge of Ushijima's property. Like so many other parts of Shiratorizawa, it's refitted to the organization's purposes: semi-automatic weapons in place of gardening implements, sacks of fertilizer removed to create temporary storage space. Osamu's looking through crates trying to find a specific one Shirabu asked about.

Suna's leaning against some shelving and fiddling with his phone.

Later Osamu doesn't remember exactly how it happens. Suna knocks something over with his elbow, and it goes clattering to the floor. Osamu steps toward it, and so does Suna, and the shed they're in is so small that a stride or two takes them immediately into each other's space.

The closet-turned-office that Suna works out of is far smaller. Osamu should be used to it by now.

But when Suna turns toward him, Osamu's suddenly aware just how close they're standing. He can see the realization hit Suna too when Suna swallows awkwardly, his gaze flicking down to where their arms almost touch before he focuses back on Osamu's face.

"Sun--" Osamu begins, then stops, helpless, because he doesn't know how to finish that. This close, Osamu can see the dark flutter of Suna's eyelashes, how grey his eyes are. Suna licks his lips nervously, and Osamu hates how he can't help but watch that too.

"If you don't want this because you're not interested," Suna says quietly, "then say so and I'll stop."

"This is a bad idea," Osamu says weakly.

"Close your eyes," Suna murmurs. Osamu knows better, but he does it anyway, and then Suna's mouth is brushing tentatively against his. It's over almost immediately, not anything really, but then Suna's sliding up against Osamu a second time, this time with more confidence.

There's a quick flicker of tongue against Osamu's mouth, not so much a question as a confirmation of something they've been circling around for weeks, and months, and _years_. Suddenly they're really kissing, Osamu's skin buzzing with something electric, his mouth opening. Suna makes a small noise into it, tracing Osamu's lower lip with his tongue, a light touch of teeth.

This can't happen, Osamu knows, there are so many reasons why this is a terrible idea. But almost before Osamu realizes it, he's leaning into the kiss, anchoring himself with a hand curled into the soft cotton of Suna's shirt.

This can't happen. Osamu should step back and make his excuses now. He knows it.

But Osamu's wanted this for so long.

This time when Suna breaks away, Osamu presses forward. Somehow they wind up with Suna's back against a wall, Suna's hand curling around Osamu's arm, drawing him in. They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss. Osamu loses track of how long they're there kissing. It's so good with Suna, better than Osamu thought it would be. Osamu licks into Suna’s mouth, tasting him, and Suna sighs hotly into it. Osamu's entire body is a livewire, and all he wants is _more_.

Suna's fingernails scrape lightly at the back of Osamu's neck when Osamu steps closer. Now it's Osamu's turn to make a sound as their bodies slot together, Suna's hips grinding against his. It feels so good, and Osamu is so, so turned on, and--

\-- and they're making out in a dusty storage shed that belongs to Ushijima, leader of Shiratorizawa.

It's like he's been doused in cold water when Osamu finally remembers where they are and why.

If they were anywhere else, Osamu thinks he might say Suna's name. _Wait, Rin, we can't_ , he might say. Rin instead of Suna, Suna instead of Suzuki.

"We can't do this," Osamu says instead, and twists out of Suna's grasp. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't have-- _I_ shouldn't have done that." He takes a few steps backwards to put some distance between them. "Fuck. I'm really sorry."

Suna's pupils are blown dark, his gaze hazy and unfocused. The look on his face-- it's like that only for a moment, then as though a switch has been flipped, Suna's face shutters and goes blank. His cheeks are flushed, and his mouth is red and kiss-bitten, and the worst part is that even after all that, Osamu still wants him.

"I'm sorry," Osamu says again.

"You know it's okay to want something for yourself, right?" asks Suna, cutting him off. "It's okay to be happy sometimes. Not everything has to be about--this." He indicates their surroundings with a sudden jerk of his head. There's something sharp and frankly assessing about the way he looks Osamu over now.

Suna's not angry. It would be easier if he was.

"It's not about ya." Osamu swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to buy a few extra moments of time. "We're working now, and it's just. It's not a good idea. We can't."

There's something too-knowing in the way Suna looks at Osamu, and Osamu hates it. It's the same look Suna had when he asked once if Osamu had ever thought about college. It's the same way Suna used to look at him whenever Atsumu talked about how the two of them would be Special Agents together under Meian.

"You mean _you_ can't." Suna adjusts himself in his pants. "It's fine if you're not interested, but don't try to pretend this is about work."

"I'm not pretendin' anything," Osamu snaps. He hates how oblique the argument's turned, like everything they're saying has to be in code. Like Suna doesn't know how dangerous it is to take these kinds of risks, like Suna doesn't know what it'll mean if either of them slip up. "We're both a part of the Shiratorizawa organization, and Ushijima's--"

"Ushijima doesn't give a fuck what either of us does in our free time," Suna retorts. "This is your _life_ , not work or Ushijima's or anybody else's."

"It's your life too." It's not what Osamu had meant to say, but it's what comes out anyway.

"Life's whatever you want to make it," Suna says. "But it's your life, not your family's or your job's or anyone else's." It's the closest either of them has come in this entire conversation to saying what they're really talking about. "It's fine if you don't want this, so long as that's what _you_ want."

And Osamu wants suddenly -- Osamu doesn't know what he wants.

Osamu doesn't know how to explain that sometimes the only way out of something is through it. He doesn't know how to say that Atsumu and Aran are the only family Osamu has left, and that Suna deserves better, that Osamu doesn't want Suna to become another statistic like Kiryuu and that none of this can be helped. Some things are like this: they just can't be helped.

"I'm sorry," Osamu says. It's not even close to enough, but he doesn't know what else he can say. "We can't. _I_ can't."

"Okay." Suna says it very calmly and evenly, like he knew all along what Osamu's answer would be.

He probably did, Osamu thinks. They've been friends long enough; Suna's always been good at reading Osamu.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |F| 14. →**

  
Aran and his partner Kiryuu had been working on a big case for months. They didn't talk about it, because it was the sort of case that involved security clearances Osamu didn't have, and because Aran had always insisted on at least the pretense of work-life balance.

The knowledge of the case was simply on the periphery of Osamu's mind, ever-present.

After Aran made Special Agent and bought a house with his high school sweetheart, Osamu had expected to see much less of Aran. Inevitable. Aran had a fiancé, Aran had a career, and what were Atsumu and Osamu but his adopted pain-in-the-ass younger brothers?

Somehow it never happened. Aran was busy, Aran was _always_ busy, but he still carved out time for family.

When Atsumu and Osamu finished high school, Aran's parents had moved to be closer to Aran's grandparents. Although Aran was two prefectures away, he still visited regularly and called them every few days. The standing twice-a-month Saturday dinner for the Miya twins at Aran and Kita's home fell into similar lines.

Aran never formally arranged the weekly work lunch that the three of them had, but somehow things worked out that way. Aran brought Kiryuu along about half the time. Atsumu complained about the man being a nervous wreck, but Osamu didn't mind. Kiryuu was nice enough, if a bit jumpy.

Usually they met on Tuesdays, but sometimes they bumped it to a Monday or Wednesday depending on their schedules. Aran was always busy, and both Atsumu and Osamu's caseloads increased dramatically once they were eligible for Special Agent. Things were hectic enough that neither twin noticed when their weekly lunch dates slipped to every other week, and Kiryuu stopped showing up at all.

Aran seemed permanently exhausted whenever Osamu saw him in the Agency hallways, a mug of coffee in one hand, a laptop or thick sheaf of files in the other. Osamu didn't think much of it.

There had been big cases before, there would always _be_ big cases.

Aran was one of the best people in the Agency: it was the nature of the job.

  


*

  


"Think Ojiro and Kiryuu'll be able to pull this one off?" Osamu had overheard someone say once in an Agency elevator. "They're awfully young for a case that big. I'm surprised Meian gave it to them instead of Sokolov or Romero."

"Maybe he asked and Sokolov didn't want it," replied his companion. "Or maybe Romero turned it down 'cause of his kid, who knows. It's not exactly family-friendly, y'know?"

"Could've given it to Barnes or one of the other Jackals," said the first man, dismissively. "Kiryuu's just as much of a headcase as Bokuto, and Ojiro's not even top three."

"Man, I'm just glad it's not my problem."

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the correct floor, the two men still deep in conversation as they stepped out. Osamu squinted at them as they went, but he didn't recognize their faces. The only thing he could tell was that their identification badges were edged in the purple of Major Cases rather than the neon green of Counterterrorism or the teal of Financial Crimes.

  


*

  


"If something ever happens to me, I want the two of ya to take care of Shinsuke," Aran had said once over lunch.

"What d'ya _mean_ , if something happens?" demanded Atsumu, outraged. Because Atsumu had no manners, he kept talking around a half-chewed bite of food. " 'course we'll take care of Kita-san, but that's a real stupid question 'cause nothing's gonna happen to ya. D'you want some help? I'll be done with this op after Thursday and 'Samu can help you out in the meantime 'cause it's not like he's doing anything important--"

"The fuck d'ya _mean_ , it's not like 'Samu's doing anything important," Osamu cut in, resisting the urge to punch Atsumu. "Just because I'm not a Special Agent like ya doesn't mean the stuff I do ain't important--"

"Yer a glorified accountant, scrub," said Atsumu, and now Osamu really wanted to punch him. "Try workin' a real--"

"Will the two of ya _shut up_ ," Aran said, his voice sharp in a way that Aran never was. It was surprising enough to make the two of them immediately fall silent, abashed. "This is _important_."

"Sorry, Aran," they chorused in unison, looking at each other sheepishly. They carried out a short furious-but-silent dialogue conveyed entirely by facial expression which Osamu won. That wasn't a surprise: 'Tsumu wasn't good with conflict that didn't involve yelling or punching someone in the face.

" 'course we'll take care of Kita-san if anything happens to ya," Osamu said, speaking for the both of them. "Kita's just as much family to us as you are. But is there a reason you're asking? Is something going on with your current case?"

Aran looked at them, and Osamu couldn't help but notice how dishevelled his appearance really was. Kita had always made a point out of pressing and starching Aran's clothes, but now they looked as though Aran slept in them regularly.

Now, as the silence stretched out, Osamu could tell Aran was taking his question seriously.

"Ya don't have to say if ya don't want to, but I heard it was a big job." Osamu regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, breaking whatever spell Aran's exhaustion had temporarily cast. Osamu could practically see the shutters in Aran's brain slam shut as he decided he wasn't going to talk about whatever it was.

"It's fine," said Aran, "it's just. A lot of paperwork. Nothing interesting."

  


*

  


Six weeks after that, Kiryuu was dead and Aran badly injured. It was the same night that someone disabled the security alarms in Aran and Kita's home and lit the place on fire.

Atsumu was out of the country with the rest of the Jackals, so Osamu was the one Kita called.

Two months later, Kuroo asked Osamu if they could chat over lunch.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |T| 15. →**

  
Things are awkward, after. It's to be expected: there's no way for things not to be awkward after one person rejects another.

Both Osamu and Suna are supposed to be busy people. Osamu never thought they spent _that_ much time together, but now that they're avoiding each other, it's obvious just how much time it was.

It sucks. Osamu spends as much time as he can driving people and tinkering around in the Shiratorizawa garage, but it's still not enough. Osamu keeps expecting to see Suna lurking in every corner, texting.

Osamu keeps thinking about the look on Suna's face when he said, _You mean you can't_.

Eight years of being friends, and Osamu threw it away just like that.

"Mizuno, you look like shit," Semi tells him bluntly one night when Osamu's driving them halfway across town to yet another contract killing. "Are you even sleeping?"

Osamu doesn't know how bad he must look if the murder-for-hire hitman is worried about him. "Yeah, 'm fine, just y'know. A lot going on, I guess."

"If you fall asleep and kill us in an accident, I'll have to come back as a ghost just so I can shoot you in the head," Semi says, clicking his tongue with no small amount of irritation. "So, you know. Get some rest so I don't have to."

Osamu knows. He knows. But he can't stop thinking about it.

At that week's Thursday meeting, Suna sits with Shirabu and Yamagata. He looks tired, but that's nothing new: Suna always looks dead tired. He looks at his phone rather than at Osamu, and that's not anything new either.

What _is_ new, though, is that Ushijima has to step out in the middle of the meeting to take a phone call. Shirabu and Goshiki get in a truly stupid debate about which of them would be a better assassin. It's completely idiotic and the kind of thing Osamu would usually smirk over with Suna, but this time when Osamu looks at Suna, Suna's not looking back at him.

  


*

  


The following week, Osamu drives Shirabu,Suna and Yamagata out to the Tenza ward to inspect one of Shiratorizawa's warehouses. Something about too many shipments coming back short.

Both Suna and Shirabu are in terrible moods.

The warehouse attendant begins babbling the literal moment he sees Shirabu's furious expression, so it's not even like Osamu or Yamagata have to be there at all. Apparently Aoba Johsai's been paying the man to look the other way while they divert some shipments. Shirabu shoots him in the leg and not the head, so at least they don't have to deal with cleanup or finding a new attendant.

They're heading back to the car, broken glass crunching beneath the soles of their boots, when Osamu spots four men on the opposite side of the street. From the way the other men pause, it's clear they've been spotted as well.

"Pretty sure that's Seijoh," Shirabu says, his voice cool. "The two in the front are Yahaba and the Mad-Dog. Anyone know the other two?"

"Yuda," Yamagata says, squinting across the street. "The other one's Sawa-something. Sawauchi? Something like that."

"Cover me," Shirabu says, and then steps smoothly off the curb. Raising his voice, he says: "What, Oikawa doesn't know how to do anything, so he has to steal out of Shiratorizawa's pockets?"

"Ushijima doesn't own Miyagi," Yahaba says dismissively. Both groups are standing solidly together in the street, Yahaba and Shirabu and Kyoutani and Yamagata forming a tight knot, Osamu and Suna and Yuda and Sawauchi off to one side. "Maybe if you paid your people better, this wouldn't be a problem."

Kyoutani doesn't say anything, but Osamu can't see his hands. His dark-lined gaze flickers across their little group, dwelling briefly on each member, and Osamu's so busy trying to watch what Kyoutani's doing that he almost misses it when Yuda says something to Suna.

Osamu can't hear what Suna says back, but he doesn't need to. Osamu recognizes the flat, patronizing expression Suna always gets when he's saying something particularly sarcastic. Even if Osamu didn't recognize Suna's expression, its effect would be obvious from the way Yuda's face goes red and furious.

Suna should know better. Normally, he does. But there's something too tight in his body language, and Osamu can tell from the way Suna's slouch gets worse and worse that the situation isn't going to get better.

Osamu forgets about Shirabu and Yahaba. Osamu's walking toward Suna and Yuda to try and deescalate things, but then Suna turns his back on Yuda, what the _fuck_ , and that's when Osamu sees something sharp and bright glittering in the man's hand.

Osamu doesn't think when he sees the knife come out. He throws himself at Suna.

It's everything Kurosu would have told Osamu never to do in a fight. It's everything Teshiro would have told Osamu never to do in a mission. It's everything Aran would have told Osamu never to do ever. Osamu's unarmed and Yuda's got a good ten kilos of muscle on Osamu.

Suna goes down sprawling when Osamu hits him. There's maybe half a second for Osamu to feel relieved, then Yuda punches him in the side twice, very hard, and Osamu doubles over with the force of it.

"Gun!" someone yells. It comes simultaneously with the sound of Yamagata's semi-automatic discharging twice, and then Yuda's falling over too. There's a lot of shouting, but all of it sounds far away.

"What the fuck?" Suna snaps, shoving at Osamu. There's blood on Suna's shirt, and Osamu wants to get a better look, but Suna wrests easily out of his grasp before pushing Osamu, hard, behind a nearby car. Osamu can hear more shouting and gunfire.

It's the closest he and Suna have been to each other since the shed, the first time Suna's said anything directly to him, and Osamu thinks. Osamu thinks. There's a weird hissing noise somewhere nearby, but Osamu can't figure out where it's coming from.

"You fucking idiot," Suna's saying, yanking at Osamu's clothes. "What the fuck did you do that for?"

Osamu feels...strange. His side feels impossibly hot, as though it's literally on fire, but the rest of him feels cold. The hissing noise won't go away, and he can't seem to get enough air. He feels dizzy. His side hurts. _Oh_ , he realizes, _it's me_. People are shouting in the background, and Suna's jamming his fingers into Osamu's side, and it hurts.

 _I understand now_ , Osamu wants to tell him. _I know what you meant, I know what I want._ He knew it the moment he saw the knife come out. He thinks maybe he did all along.

"What the fuck," Suna is muttering fiercely, "you fucking idiot, what the fuck, why would you fucking _do_ that," and there's blood on Suna's hands, blood on Suna's shirt, even a smear of blood swiped across Suna's forehead. He looks so real. This is the most upset Osamu's ever seen Suna, and it's funny, Osamu thinks, it's funny that this is what it takes to hold Suna's attention.

Suna is snapping something at Shirabu and Yamagata, but Osamu doesn't care about either of them. Everything is too loud, and yet somehow far away. He wants to tell Suna something for Atsumu, but he can't seem to collect his thoughts. Osamu's tired. He wants to tell Suna that it's all right, he understands now. He's tired and his head is spinning. There's so much yelling, and Osamu's so, so tired. He wants to tell Suna something.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |A| 16. →**

  
Working for the Intelligence Security Agency wasn't something Osamu had ever intended, exactly.

A lot of things in Osamu's life were like that. He knew he was physically and mentally well-suited to the work, he knew the things he did helped people and saved lives, and it even paid him well, but it was still never something he'd sought out.

Mostly the choice had been purely rational.

Atsumu had wanted to be a Special Agent like their dead father since the two of them were seven. He'd wanted it fiercely in the same matter-of-fact way the sky was blue. Atsumu might have been a cocky asshole who Osamu spent half his time wanting to throttle, but at the end of the day, it was still Atsumu, and somebody had to watch out for him.

Aran had joined the Agency as well, and so had Gin and Suna and at some point, the whole thing had seemed -- reasonable. There were worse things to do.

  


*

  


There were two kinds of people who joined the Intelligence Security Agency.

The ones who treated it as a job were the ones who heard about it through conventional channels. They were the ones who went through the standard application process, with its mandatory four-year college degree, comprehensive background check, and physical fitness requirements. They comprised the bulk of people who worked at the Agency at every level.

And then there were the rest.

Some, like Aran, had grown up knowing about the Agency because one or both parents worked there. Others, like Gin and Suna, had lost a parent or been orphaned in the aftermath of an Agency case.

A select few, like Atsumu and Osamu, qualified on both counts.

Osamu didn't think much about his father. It wasn't something Osamu felt deserved a great deal of thought. The man might have been a great Special Agent, but he'd been a shit father. Most of Osamu’s memories before he'd died were of the Ojiros taking care of them while he was off somewhere saving the world.

For obvious reasons, most of Osamu’s memories after his father had died were also of the Ojiros taking care of them.

It wasn't fair, Osamu thought, that people gave his father credit for anything when it was the Ojiros who had done all the work raising them.

It wasn't fair, Osamu thought, that people talked about him and Atsumu and Suna and Gin like they were heroes going into the same line of work as their parents when the truth was not that they were brave, but only that they had nothing left to lose.

  


*

  


( Here is a secret Osamu knows: both he and Atsumu take after their mother.

Nobody ever says Osamu ought to be like her, even though she was just as much a person as Miya Takehiko. She died when they were toddlers, and Osamu can't remember her at all. Atsumu says he can, but Osamu's pretty sure 'Tsumu's full of shit, 'cause there's no way being five minutes older makes that kind of difference.

Osamu doesn't have many photos of her. She was usually the one behind the lens rather than in front.

Osamu and Atsumu didn't dye their hair until high school, and they didn't change the way their hair was parted until they were in primary school. Before that, it's almost impossible to tell them apart. Even Osamu can't tell which twin is the toddler trying to crawl out of the photograph frame and away from their mother, and which is clinging to a stuffed rabbit.

 _Atsumu and Osamu at Oze Park_ , she wrote in precise, neat handwriting on the back. In the photograph series, she's caught in a succession of poses chasing the twin trying to escape. She looked happy, Osamu thinks. )

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |U| 17. →**

  
The first thing Osamu sees when he wakes is an unfamiliar room. There's a distinct taste of iron and copper in Osamu's mouth, a dull throbbing heat in his chest and side. Through the window, he can see the dark grey sky, hazy in a way that could mean either twilight or the hour just before dawn.

When Osamu tries to sit up, a sharp burst of pain slices through him. The pain makes him exhale suddenly, which in turn produces another flaring jolt of pain.

Shiratorizawa. He's in Shiratorizawa. The memory of it hits Osamu like a freight train. Ushijima and Oikawa and Shirabu and _Suna_ and--

"You probably shouldn't get up," Suna's voice says quietly from somewhere outside Osamu's field of view. He can hear a chair moving, followed by footsteps. When Suna circles around to where Osamu can see him, he's clearly exhausted. "Do you remember what happened, Mizuno-kun?"

There's a precision in the way Suna sounds the words come out, a careful emphasis on the name.

 _Ah,_ Osamu thinks. _Of course._

"Yeah," he says, coughing. "I r'member. S'zuki."

 _I remember what happened,_ is what he means. _You don't have to worry about me blowing both our covers._

Suna doesn't say anything in response, but Osamu can see tension bleed slowly out of his shoulders. He walks to a part of the room Osamu can't see, and Osamu can hear a glass clinking, followed by the sound of a broken plastic seal and liquid being poured.

"One of the Aoba Johsai guys tried to stab me," Suna says conversationally, walking back around to Osamu's bedside. He's holding a water glass with a neon pink straw. At first he moves to hand it to Osamu, but then he seems to think better of it, tilting the glass and straw to Osamu's mouth. "Shirabu patched you up, by the way. How're you feeling?"

The cool water feels amazing in his dry mouth, like it's the first thing Osamu's drunk in years.

"Like I got stabbed," Osamu says once Suna moves the glass away.

"Good to know your sense of humor's still shit," Suna says, the corner of his mouth twisting. The water glass clinks when he sets it on the nightstand. "Shirabu said he'd be around to check you in--" Suna glances at his phone. "-- six hours, maybe? Sorry about the pain. Ohira wanted to give you something stronger, but I told them how you get funny drug reactions sometimes."

 _Ah_ , Osamu thinks. 'Funny reactions'. He means it's not safe for Osamu to take too much, because even now, even with a stab wound in Osamu's side, it still comes down to the mission and the fact that Osamu might say too much. "Yeah."

"Go back to sleep," Suna murmurs, smoothing his hand over Osamu's forehead, and his palm is cool and dry. "It's fine. I'll look after you."

  


*

  


The next time Osamu snaps awake, it's because Shirabu's poking at Osamu's side and it hurts like a bitch. "What." He manages to get out, trying to blink himself awake. "What the fuck."

From the amount of light flooding through the window, it's late morning. Nobody else is in the room with them.

"Your side's healing fine," Shirabu says to Osamu. "Next time you see Suzuki, tell him to get off his ass 'cause we're very behind schedule and we don't have time for this."

"What?"

"Tell Suzuki he needs to get back to work," Shirabu wipes his hands with a towel. "I understand he's grateful, but this is excessive." 

"I don't understand," Osamu says slowly. "Why wouldn't Suzuki be working?"

"You don't remember?" Shirabu's snort is surprisingly indelicate. "Some Seijoh guy tried to stab Suzuki, but you got in the way. Yamagata avenged you, but Suzuki's been hovering over you since. I don't care where the fuck he works, but tell him that he needs to do something before Ushijima-san gets upset."

"Oh," Osamu says. There's not much he can say to that.

"I'll check back tomorrow," Shirabu says. "I doubt you'll have the energy for a while, but don't take any showers or get your bandages wet, don't over-exert yourself, and tell Suzuki to get his ass back to work." Turning on his heel, he aims a final annoyed look at Osamu before stalking out of the room.

  


*

  


Osamu's time in Shiratorizawa has always seemed slow, intercut with terrifying bursts of action, but now it's seemingly unending. Without the usual day-to-day grind, there's nothing for Osamu to do but stare at the four walls of his small room and think, his mind running in endless circles.

It isn't that Osamu's never thought of self-sacrifice. Osamu knows he'd do it for Atsumu; he likes to think he would for Aran. But the thought has always been abstract.

There was nothing abstract about the panic Osamu had felt that night, looking at Suna.

He'd thought that Suna would be safer without him. He'd thought Suna would be better off. But it's only now that Osamu realizes that it made no difference. Suna's life was still in danger, just the same.

And Osamu can't get the look on Suna's face when he'd said, _'life's whatever you want to make it'_ out of his head. The way Suna had looked at him--

Before Osamu got stabbed, Suna wouldn't look in his direction. Now every time Osamu looks, Suna's looking at him and there's so much intermingled guilt and affection that Osamu can't stand it. Suna keeps hovering, asking if there's anything he can do. Osamu wants to tell Suna no, that Suna's done enough already. Osamu wants to tell Suna that he has nothing to feel bad for.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |D| 18. →**

  
It had been clear from the start that they would be going their separate ways once training was complete. Gin was interested in Counterterrorism, while Suna wanted to go into Surveillance and Communications. Both Atsumu and Osamu would be going into the general agent training pool.

"You know he's not going to make the cut for Special Agent," Suna said out of nowhere on a lazy Sunday afternoon, a few months before graduation. "Hibarida and Meian only take the top ten percent of applicants."

"Who, 'Tsumu?" Osamu asked, frowning at Suna.

They were in the small dormitory room that Suna and Gin shared. Suna was sitting cross-legged on his bed, the afternoon sun coming through the window to light his dark hair a rich auburn.

"Obviously Meian will take Atsumu. I'm talking about Riseki," Suna said, rolling his eyes. "He's too cautious for fieldwork, y'know?"

"Some people would call that being smart." Riseki was another junior agent chasing the Special Agent dream. Osamu didn't care about Riseki, but he was uneasy about not being able to tell where Suna was steering the conversation.

"It might not be so bad," Suna said. "You can tell Riseki's not all that into the work. He'll probably be a lot happier as a technician in Financial Crimes or some shit like that."

"A tech? Nobody comes here wantin' to be anything except a Special Agent," Osamu retorted. "Ya think you'd be okay with it if ya got stuck in one of those positions?"

"I wouldn't mind if that's how it works out," Suna said. He said the words lightly, like it was of no consequence, but Osamu knew from the way Suna said it that he would have minded a great deal.

  


*

  


In high school, it had been simple. It had been text messages and phone calls, with the occasional weekend hangout.

Osamu had known their paths would diverge soon enough. And if Suna had a sharp, pretty face, what of it? Osamu would be leaving to become a Special Agent soon enough, the path ahead for him and Atsumu unfurling like a rose in bloom.

  


*

  


In training, it had been simple too. Osamu and Atsumu were roommates, Gin and Suna were roommates, and the four of them spent all their free time hanging out. Atsumu had spent their entire first year lovesick over Sakusa, while the rest of their class watched in a mixture of horror and amusement.

On weekends they'd sometimes take the train to different parts of Tokyo. It was the four of them at first, five if Sakusa wasn't busy. Sometimes Gin would bring along whoever he was seeing too. They rotated neighborhoods. Atsumu loved the Ginza and Shibuya fashion, Gin’s favorite was the Shimokita music scene.

Osamu didn't care for shopping, but he didn't mind following the others as they wandered through different districts of Tokyo. He liked the frenetic energy of the busier shopping districts, the way it was impossible to be anything but a part of the crowd.

Other times, they'd split up. It happened more and more often as time went by. Atsumu and Sakusa would go off together somewhere, Gin would go out with Riseki and Kosaku, and it would be the two of them remaining, Osamu and Suna. They'd watch a movie on one of their laptops, or share earbuds and listen to music from Suna's phone. At first Osamu had thought things would be different, now that they were no longer in high school, but it was still as easy as breathing.

But Suna was likely to go to the Tottori base after graduation, while Osamu would almost certainly stay in Kawasaki with Atsumu. It hardly seemed fair to start something when the two of them might not be in the same place again for a long time.

  


*

  


At graduation, there were a lot of speeches. Kita and Aran came to see them off, as did the rest of the Ojiros.

"Good luck, 'Samu," Suna had said, smirking. "Good luck with everything, I'm sure keeping Atsumu's ego under control will be a full time job."

"I know the two of ya're gonna be crazy busy 'cause you're the Miya twins and all," Gin said, laughing and slinging an arm around Suna's shoulders, "but don't forget the rest of us when you're Special Agents saving the world and all, okay? Don't be a stranger."

And Osamu had laughed too, looking at Suna, the dark swoop of his hair, his quiet smile, and said, no, of course not, never.

  


*

  


Osamu hadn't meant to be a stranger, really. He really hadn't. The four of them had a group chat, and even if they were going their separate ways, it wasn't like video conferencing or airplanes didn't exist. It was the modern era.

Osamu was busy, though, and Suna was busy, and so was everyone else.

Everyone met up thirteen months after graduation, when Suna happened to be in town. They went to the ramen place they'd always gone back in training. Gin told everyone about his girlfriend and how he was considering staying a part of the bomb squad for the long term. Suna talked about the Surveillance and Communications division and some of the things they were doing with covert electronics.

Osamu didn't have much to say, but it was fine. Atsumu talked enough for both of them.

A couple months after that, Osamu went out to Tottori for a weekend to visit Suna and Gin.

We'll stay in touch, they said again afterwards, but a few weeks later Kiryuu was dead, and then more important things just kept coming up.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |V| 19. →**

  
They're in Osamu's bedroom, a little over a week after Osamu was stabbed, when Osamu finally apologizes.

"I'm sorry," Osamu blurts. "I shouldn't have said the things I did to you. Before."

It's not the right way to start, Osamu thinks the moment the words escape his mouth. He knows it from the way Suna's shoulders stiffen as he turns toward Osamu, face impressively blank even by Suna's standards.

Osamu might only get one shot. He can't afford to fuck it up.

"Before--" Osamu repeats, exhaling slowly. He knows even if neither of them say it aloud, they both know exactly what Osamu means by 'before' and all the levels of meaning the word carries.

"Before," Suna prompts, his eyes narrowing.

"What ya said before, about not everything being _this_." Osamu waves a hand at the room around them. "It's hard for things not to be. It isn't that I don't want to be with you, but I thought you'd be safer that way. This whole thing's too complicated. I never expected to be . . here, really.” 

Osamu pauses, searching Suna's face for any kind of reaction. "But last week, when things were going sideways. The only thing I could think of was you, and that not being with ya didn't make a difference." He was aiming for wry, but could tell the tone wasn't quite right. "We were still in the same place as before, and yer life was still in danger."

"You have to say what you mean, Mizuno-kun." Suna's fingers are warm as he wraps them around Osamu's wrist. 

"I like ya," Osamu says. "I have for a long time."

Suna looks at him. Just looks without saying anything. Abruptly Osamu remembers Suna's saying _it's okay to want something for yourself_ and he thinks, _**this** is what I want_.

"Don't you think getting stabbed to realize that was a bit much?" Suna asks. There's something wry about the curve of his mouth. This time when Suna leans forward to kiss him, Osamu sees it coming.

The angle's awkward, because Osamu is half-lying down, propped up by his elbows, as Suna leans over him, but it's as electrifying as before. Osamu doesn't mean for things to turn heated, but it's Suna, and--

And it's Suna.

When Suna swipes his tongue over Osamu's lips, Osamu can't help but part them further to deepen the kiss. Suna cups Osamu's jaw with the palm of one hand, leaning down even as Osamu presses himself upwards.

"Scoot up," Suna mutters, drawing away to shove gently at Osamu's legs. "You'll strain your neck like this."

It takes a few minutes for them to rearrange themselves. Suna's overcautious of jostling Osamu's side, so everything takes longer than it should, but eventually they wind up with Osamu sitting cross-legged, his back braced against the wall, and Suna between Osamu's legs.

"You look good," Osamu says. It's maybe not the most romantic thing that Osamu could say, but it's true. Suna does look good like this, watching Osamu with a dark, hungry stare that's almost all pupils, his lips parted slightly. It's like everything Osamu's dreamt of, except that now it's real. He reaches out to grasp at the hem of Suna's shirt, his fingertips dipping underneath to graze the expanse of Suna's abs. "Can I--is it okay if I--?"

"Yeah," Suna says. His voice is breathy, but the half-smile he gives Osamu is fond and so, so familiar. "Yeah, of course."

"C'mere then," Osamu says, and Suna leans in, presses up and against him like his entire body is liquid, and they're kissing again. Suna's half in Osamu's lap at this point, arms looped around the back of his neck. Osamu's hands grazing the elastic waistband of Suna's sweatpants, his palms flush against the sharp jut of Suna's hipbone.

When Osamu nips at Suna's lips, he can _feel_ the way it goes straight through Suna's body like a current, the sharp jerk of Suna's hips into the air. This time everything is slow and languorous in a way it wasn't before, as though now they've got all the time in the world.

Arousal spirals through Osamu, pooling in his groin. Osamu can feel the effect of everything he does to Suna, the way Suna's hips stutter slightly and the muted small noises Suna makes when Osamu does a particular thing with his mouth or tongue or lips. It's incredibly hot.

Suna's eyes are hazy when they finally break apart, his mouth kiss-swollen, but he's smiling. Osamu wants to see him like this, always and forever. He wants to call Suna _Rin_ , to hear the sound of his real name in Suna's mouth.

Suna pulls away though, when Osamu tries to tug him closer, fully into his lap.

"We're not having sex," Suna says flatly.

"What?" Osamu says, his brain completely grinding to a halt. The whole thing is so out of context that he can't even process what Suna's trying to say at first. "Uh, not that I'm pressuring you. Or anything. You shouldn't, like, feel you have to do something if you're not ready."

"What the hell are _you_ talking about," Suna says, giving Osamu a weird look. "I’m not the one who got stabbed. You had a literal hole in your side. We're not having sex in your current state.”

"... oh," Osamu says dumbly. "I feel fine, though?"

"I'm sure you do," Suna says, and the bored way he says it is so very familiar, as is the slight glint of amusement in his eyes. " _You_ are not doing anything. Come here."

This time, Osamu lets Suna maneuver him down to the futon. He can't help the slight whine that escapes him and the way his hips jerk when Suna skates a palm over the crotch of his sweatpants. Even through two layers of fabric, it feels impossibly good.

"Can I?" Suna asks, his fingers toying with Osamu's waistband as he kneels between Osamu's legs. He's smirking like he already knows the answer -- which to be fair, probably wasn't all that difficult to guess.

"Please," Osamu breathes, and then Suna's sliding his sweatpants down and off before scraping the back of his fingernails lightly against Osamu's inner thighs. When Suna mouths loosely at the bulge in Osamu's briefs, he accompanies it with a hot exhalation that has Osamu's hips kicking up into nothing. "Stop--stop teasing."

"You're the one who's been making me wait," Suna says, nipping at Osamu's abs, before he slides Osamu's briefs down as well. "Be glad I'm not making you wait longer."

Suna starts with small licks at the tip, lapping delicately at the precum. He grasps Osamu's base with one hand, bracing himself against Osamu's thigh with the other. He looks up at Osamu through his eyelashes, and when he finally slips his mouth over Osamu's erection, Osamu's mind goes completely blank.

Suna pops off Osamu after a moment or two. "You can pull my hair if you like," he says, grinning sharp and foxbright, and then reaches out to place Osamu's hand on the back of his head before taking Osamu back down.

"Fuck," Osamu hisses. He can't make too much noise—it'll be mortifying if Yamagata or Kawanishi overhear and decide to investigate—but at the same time it's almost impossible not to moan as Suna flattens his tongue against the underside of his dick, tracing the vein there. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Suna's mouth is soft and hot. He moves unhurriedly over Osamu, like they've got all the time in the world. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in Osamu's belly as Suna hollows his cheeks. If they were anywhere else but here, Osamu would call him _Rin_ now, but he can't, and any name he could use seems inappropriate.

Osamu settles instead for twining his fingers through Suna's hair, soft and unexpectedly fine in Osamu's hand. A steady stream of whimpers and moans escapes his mouth despite his best efforts to be quiet. It's almost too much, the intense heat and sensation engulfing Osamu, the way Osamu can see Suna palming his own erection like he's too turned on by this to wait.

"I'm -- fuck, I'm, I'm close," Osamu forces out. He tightens his fingers in Suna's hair, trying to pull him off, but Suna refuses to move or do anything except hum in acknowledgement. It drives Osamu even closer. Suna's staring at Osamu, watching Osamu watch him, and then Suna slides down even further, until Osamu's tip hits the back of his throat, and it's too much, and Osamu's back is arching, a wave of pure sensation crashing over him as Suna swallows through it. It's seemingly unending.

When Osamu comes back to himself, Suna's pulling off him with a final lick that makes Osamu shiver. Suna smirks at him, and his lips are so, so red. He still hasn't come yet, Osamu realizes.

"I can--" Osamu starts, reaching out through the pleasant fog that's enervating him, but Suna shakes his head.

"You don't have to," Suna says. His cheeks are very pink, but Osamu can see the lines of tension in Suna's body, the way he stills when Osamu trails his fingers against the ridge of Suna's hip.

"I want to," Osamu says. And he does. He knows now that this is what he wants. That _Suna_ is what he wants.

"I'm close," Suna says. "It won't take that much, just. Just touch me."

The sounds Suna makes as Osamu strokes him are quiet and desperate, bitten off. His hips jerk into Osamu's touch as Osamu grasps him, rubbing a thumb over the head of Suna's dick and the precum beading there.

"Kiss -- me," Suna says, the words punctuated by a gasp, and Osamu thinks he'll remember this forever: the way Suna looks right now, the way Suna is looking at him. Osamu seals their mouths together and kisses Suna hungrily.

Like this, Osamu can feel every soft pant or whimper or hitch of breath Suna makes when Osamu touches him. He can feel Suna's body tensing against his, the spasmodic way Suna's hips stutter as the rest of his body goes stiff. He can feel every jerk and twitch of Suna's dick as he comes, Suna's low moan muffled by their mouths before, finally, Suna goes still and relaxes bonelessly into Osamu's side.

"We should clean up," Suna mutters after several minutes pass. He says it while yawning into Osamu's neck. Every muscle in Osamu's body feels pleasantly heavy, and Osamu can tell they're already both half-asleep. " 's going to be disgusting if we don't."

"In a moment," Osamu says. He knows they'll have to go back to being Suzuki and Mizuno soon enough, but he wants to stay like this a little longer as Suna and Osamu.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |K| 20. →**

  
"Do you have any obligations tonight, Mizuno-san?" Shirabu had asked Osamu that morning. "I need a driver around eight, for a group of four counting you. We'll be heading to the Maita docks. Kawanishi or Semi should be able to show you if you don't know the location."

Over the few weeks that Osamu had been a part of Shiratorizawa, he'd been on plenty of protection racket runs with Kawanishi and Yamagata. He drove the car places, he let Kawanishi or Yamagata out of the car, he waited patiently for them to return, and then he drove them to the next location.

"Boring work, but it pays the bills," Yamagata had said, shrugging. "Semi and Goshiki do more interesting stuff, but Ushijima'll probably make you wait before you can do that."

Osamu didn't mind. 'Interesting' didn't sound like anything he wanted to be mixed up in.

There was no reason for Osamu to be nervous about driving Shirabu. While Osamu rarely interacted with him, it was clear he was calm and even-tempered. Whatever Shirabu's plans for the evening were, they were precisely what would occur. It was unlikely the situation under Shirabu would spiral out of control the way it might under Goshiki or Tendou.

  


*

  


"Maita docks?" said Semi when Osamu asked. "That'll be Ohgiminami again, then."

"Who're Ohgimi--Ohgiminami?" Osamu asked, his tongue tripping over the long train of syllables. If it were anyone else he wouldn't have bothered, but Semi was one of the few people in Shiratorizawa who was willing to answer questions.

"Ohgiminami," Semi said, pinching and scrolling at a map on his phone to show Osamu. "They used to operate a couple blocks around the Maita docks. Drug smuggling and the standard protection racket, that sort of thing. Utsui-san took them over, but we were too busy with Seijoh at the time, so he let Ohgiminami continue operating semi-independently for rent."

'Rent', Osamu knew, was a polite way of saying that Shiratorizawa asked Ohgiminami for a flat amount of cash each month, a percentage of their intake, or both. It made the whole thing seem more corporate business deal than criminal enterprise.

"That's generous."

The sideways flicker of Semi's dark gaze was amused. "The rate's fifty percent, and they know we'll crush them if they don't deliver."

"Oh," said Osamu.

"Kenjirou doesn't like to get his hands dirty." Semi said it in the same matter-of-fact-way that he might have discussed the weather. "If you're going all the way out there, he probably realized someone there's shorting us."

  


*

  


There were three Ohgiminami members present at the docks warehouse when Shiratorizawa arrived.

Osamu didn't know why he was there. He didn't expect to _always_ wait in the car like a glorified taxi driver to wait for other Shiratorizawa members to finish whatever they were there to do, but usually there was something heavy to lift, or a large number of people that needed to be intimidated if he was invited inside.

 _Kenjirou doesn't like to get his hands dirty_ , Osamu thought, fighting down the urge to shiver.

Towada was the Ohgiminami leader, a large-framed man with slicked-back dark hair and a narrow, pock-marked face. He swallowed constantly whenever he spoke, gaze flickering nervously between Goshiki and Shirabu as though he couldn't figure out which was worse: the sawed-off shotgun Goshiki was carrying, or Shirabu's cold expression.

Osamu didn't know the names of the other two Ohgiminami members. It didn't matter, because Goshiki shot and killed one within the first five minutes.

"Taichi, please escort Towada-san to our car," Shirabu said. He was frowning at the blood and brains that now littered the floor, adding a strong metallic, smokey note to the scents of mildew and rotting wood that were already present. "I'm sure Ushijima-san will want to speak with him personally."

Towada was tall, but Kawanishi was taller. Osamu could see the Ohgiminami leader calculating what he could do or say to get out of the situation.

"Don't move," Kawanishi said levelly, snapping a telescoping baton to full length with a quick flick of his wrist. He crossed the room in a couple quick strides.

"You don't have to--" Towada began. The words were cut off when Kawanishi swang the baton in a sudden, vicious arc that smashed straight into his jaw. He dropped instantly. Pulling zip-tie handcuffs out of his pocket, Kawanishi knelt and began to secure him.

"Good, that's settled," said Shirabu. "Mizuno-kun, please take care of the last one."

"What?" Osamu glanced sharply at the remaining member of Ohgiminami, who was currently shaking in a corner of the room. "Ya mean ya want me to--knock that one out too?"

"Ushijima-san only needs to talk to one." Shirabu shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but there was nothing casual about the sharp way he was watching Osamu. "We don't need the other. Take care of him." The implication was clear.

Osamu carried a semi-automatic pistol that Semi had given him when he'd started working for Ushijima. Although he'd taken it out before, and even fired it multiple times, it had been mostly been warning shots, once or twice a shot to the leg.

This was different. Osamu knew it, and he could tell that Goshiki and Shirabu both did from the way they were looking at him.

"I--" Osamu began. Like an echo, he remembered Kuroo saying _you're just the guy who drives cars for them and beats up people in exchange for some wages_. None of this was part of his job description, but Osamu wasn't stupid. It wasn't a request. "Okay."

Atsumu would have been able to do it, Osamu thought inanely, pointing his gun at the man. This was a test, this was what organizations like this _did_. Something for them to hold over you, to prove you were really loyal. If the man worked for Ohgiminami, he was hardly innocent. Osamu could do this too.

"Hurry up, we don't have all night," Shirabu said, his voice irritated, and Osamu knew that he was running out of patience.

"Okay," Osamu said. He was an excellent shot, better even than Atsumu: he could do this. He aimed his weapon at the man's head and then fired.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |W| 21. →**

  
It seems like there should be a catch somewhere, something Osamu's missing, but so far he hasn't found it yet. He keeps expecting to run into some hidden cost: something lurking that he hasn't yet considered.

It doesn't happen.

Osamu goes back to work after Shirabu pronounces him good-to-go.

"I wouldn’t start picking any fights," Shirabu says, taping a fresh set of bandages on Osamu's chest, "but you’re fine to drive. You got lucky, could've been a lot worse." Looking at Suna, he adds, "Satisfied, Suzuki? His guts aren't falling out anytime soon. You can stop hovering and get your ass back to work."

"I'm satisfied," Suna says tonelessly, but he looks at Osamu with so much fondness that Osamu has to catch his breath.

 _Ah_ , Osamu thinks, _so._

His first day back, Osamu drives Kawanishi and Yamagata out to the Saiki Ward to collect some debts. Half the time he's driving, he's trying to formulate a response for anything they might say. But Kawanishi doesn't seem interested in anything except the street intersections sliding past; the only thing Yamagata says is, "Good to see you back, Kawanishi's a fucking terrible driver."

Osamu expects Suna to say something, but the only difference is that he smells strongly of glue and synthetic plastic when he shows up in Osamu's bedroom.

"Is everything okay," Osamu says, feeling ridiculous, "with your work and Ushijima-san?"

"What." Suna says, in that weird flat way Suna has of saying things, but the moment he's finished sliding the door shut behind him, he's halfway across the room slipping cool fingers beneath Osamu's sweater, flowing up against Osamu like water. Afterwards, Suna laughs at him quietly, mouthing soft kisses between Osamu's shoulder blades, the bump-bump-bump dips and curves of his spine.

Suna's quiet in bed. It shouldn't be much of a surprise, because Suna's quiet all the time, so why should this be any different, but somehow it still is. Learning his body is an experience, the things that will make Suna sigh when Osamu does them, the things that make Suna shiver and come apart beneath Osamu.

Happiness is an unfamiliar thing in Osamu's chest, light and buoyant as air.

  


*

  


They've never talked about their mission objectives, not really, and this is something that doesn't change. Osamu knows Suna's still meeting with his handler, same as Osamu's still meeting with Teshiro: Osamu supposes Suna is still passing information along, although he doesn't ask.

It's going to have to stop, Osamu knows. Eventually Teshiro or Komori will figure things out. Unacceptable risk, what about your covers, emotional overinvolvement, the two of you should know better, but it's easy enough to not think of when Suna's kissing him messily and sliding a hand into Osamu's pants, his fingers slipping expertly over the head of Osamu's cock.

Osamu's never thought of Suna as particularly affectionate, but he touches Osamu all the time. Even when they're not fucking, or fucking around, or whatever it is they're doing, Suna will press kisses to Osamu's wrist or neck when he doesn't have to, twine their legs together in Osamu's futon.

There's something going on with Shiratorizawa at the top. Osamu keeps picking up scraps of gossip from Semi here and there. Something about money laundering and tax shelters and moving their overseas funds around. It's enough to make the risk of going through Ohira's trash worth it: Osamu coming away with a few crumpled papers with dates and account numbers that make Teshiro's eyes gleam.

"This is good work. I think we're really starting to make some progress," Teshiro says at their next meeting, and Osamu's too happy about Suna to glare at the man and think, _'who's this ' **we** ' you're talking about_ the way he normally would.

Things are starting to go right, Osamu thinks: Suna, the mission, everything else. Things are finally moving forward. 

  


*

  


"You and Suzuki-kun seem to be getting along well," Ohira says, one morning while Osamu's putting his shoes on in the genkan.

"Uh, we don't see each other much," says Osamu, shifting his weight uneasily. Osamu likes Ohira about as much as he likes anyone in Shiratorizawa, but there's never been much reason for them to interact. "We're both pretty busy."

"Don't worry about it," says Ohira, looking amused, and then he literally pats Osamu on the shoulder, what the hell. "Semi and Kawanishi say you've been a real help, and I know Wakatoshi thinks well of you too. You're allowed some time to yourself, you know."

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |L| 22. →**

  
"Ohgiminami," Teshiro had said, two weeks later. "How do you spell that?"

"It doesn't fuckin' matter," Osamu said irritatedly. "They hold the territory by the harbor in Maita Ward. They were skimming from Shiratorizawa, so Ushijima sent me and a couple people out to take care of them."

"And?" Teshiro asked, scribbling. "Did you?"

"Yes, of course," Osamu snapped. The love hotel Teshiro had rented this time had some sort of jungle theme going: the walls were painted green, with many photographs of wild animals, and the bed was covered in a fake jaguar hide spread. "I killed one as an initiation thing. Is that enough for ya?"

"Enough for--?" Teshiro raised his eyebrows as he glanced up from his paper.

"To build your case," Osamu said. "I killed one, and Goshiki killed one, and Shirabu's at least an accessory. Murder's a capital crime, and you'll have my testimony, and I can tell ya where to find my weapon and Goshiki's, and where to find the bodies. That's two charges of murder already if ya don't count Towada."

"What about Ushijima?"

"What _about_ Ushijima?" Osamu asked, exasperated. "This's more than ya would've had without me. This mission was supposed to be three months and out, it's almost _been_ three months already."

"Shirabu and Goshiki aren't useful unless you can tie Ushijima to it," Teshiro said. "Right now that's circumstantial at best."

"I killed someone," Osamu said. "This isn't what I joined the Agency to do. I want out."

"You killed a gang member." Teshiro shrugged: the death was clearly of no particular interest to him. "If you feel so strongly about it, I'll talk to Kuroo, but I'm sure he'll agree that it's a waste to pull you out of the field over something like that."

"Talk to Kuroo," Osamu said, gritting his teeth.

"All right," Teshiro said. "I'll tell you what he says in two weeks."

  


*

  


"You're doing a great job, Miya," said Kuroo, his voice tinny and face pixelated on the satellite video phone Teshiro handed Osamu two weeks later. "Teshiro's been updating me on your progress. I know this mission is more than we initially planned, but unfortunately that's the nature of field work."

" 'A bit more'," repeated Osamu. He knew the sarcasm in his voice was too apparent, but he couldn't suppress it completely. "You said ya were recruiting me 'cause ya needed someone to gather information on Aoba Johsai."

"Yes," said Kuroo smoothly. "And that's what you're doing. Gathering information."

"On the _wrong fuckin' gang_ ," Osamu snapped. The volume earned him a glare from Teshiro, but Osamu didn't lower his voice. "Are Yaku or Kai free yet? I've been in here blind for the last three months, and this _isn't even my case_."

" _Watch_ it, Miya," warned Teshiro.

"It's all right, Teshiro," said Kuroo, sounding amused. "I understand how stressful undercover work can be. But to answer your question, Miya, it may not be possible to substitute another agent in for you sometime soon. Ushijima runs a tight ship compared to Oikawa."

"What does that mean?"

"Aoba Johsai needs new people very badly," said Kuroo. "They won't think too hard when it comes to recruiting low level members. Shiratorizawa can afford to pick and choose who they hire. If it were that easy, I'd have ten undercover agents in there by now."

"Okay . . ." Osamu said slowly. "So what, yer just gonna leave me here then?"

"I don't think you understand what kind of opportunity this is, Miya," Kuroo said softly. "We've been trying to track Utsui Takashi down for years, and then something like this falls into your lap. Do you know how many people Ushijima and his father tried to kill over the past three decades? Including _your_ adopted brother, I might add."

"What?" said Osamu.

"Ojiro never told you or Atsumu?" Kuroo's startled expression could have been real, or it could have been nothing. It was difficult to tell on the small screen. "That was the big case he and Kiryuu were working on for Major Cases. We had word that Utsui was hiding somewhere in North America, but Ojiro and Kiryuu narrowed it down to the Los Angeles metroplex. That's why Ushijima sent someone after them. They were too close to his father."

It was too convenient, but it made sense given the things Osamu had heard, and the way Aran had behaved.

It wasn't impossible.

"No," Osamu said finally. "Aran never told us."

"I know the situation's not ideal," Kuroo said. "I worked a lot of undercover cases before I got promoted to section chief, I do remember what it's like. I know this isn't what you expected, but if you could just hang in there a little longer--"

"There's no way I'm gonna be able to find out where Utsui's located," Osamu said. "The only thing they let me do is drive cars."

 _'Only',_ Osamu thought, ruthlessly overriding the weird bubble of guilt that rose in his chest.

"We're not asking you to," said Kuroo. He said it very simply. "Keep doing what you've been doing and pass information to Teshiro when you have it. Sooner or later, someone will slip up and it'll be enough to take Ushijima and his father down."

Osamu wanted to say 'no'. He wanted to. There was no way he'd be able to contribute any useful information, and Shiratorizawa was far above his paygrade as a junior agent who'd never done undercover work before.

But it was Ushijima, and it had been Aran. Atsumu would have done it.

"How much longer do ya want me to stay in the field?"

"Not too much longer," said Kuroo. "Another three to six weeks, perhaps."

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |X| 23. →**

  
It's not anything, really, just Osamu talking to Suna in the Shiratorizawa house and getting incautious with what he says. It's not even anything interesting like Osamu sneaking out to meet his handler, or getting caught snooping somewhere he shouldn't be.

It's Osamu talking to Suna about Shiratorizawa shipments he shouldn't know anything about.

Osamu knows he's fucked up the moment Tendou steps quietly into the room. Suna's sitting on the floor behind some furniture, invisible to Tendou for the moment.

"Who was that?" Tendou is smiling, but there's nothing pleasant in his face.

"Who was what?" Osamu bluffs. He doesn't look at Suna, but he casually takes a couple steps away in case Tendou decides to approach.

"I heard you talking to someone, Mizuno-chan," Tendou says. The man's eyes are wide and unblinking as he steps toward Osamu, a weird eerie grin on his face. "Who was it? Oikawa? Iwaizumi?"

"I'd never talk to anyone in _Seijoh_ ," Osamu spits. "Didja forget they nearly killed me?"

The words come out with the right inflection and perfect amount of venom. Osamu says it well enough to work on Shirabu or Goshiki or anyone else in Shiratorizawa.

But Tendou, well. Tendou's smart, and his eyes are focused on Osamu's face as he steps closer. Osamu doesn't flinch, because every step Tendou takes is one away from the corner where Suna's hiding.

"Nearly," Tendou says. "I wonder." Before Osamu can blink, there's a knife in Tendou's hand, the point way too close to Osamu's face. "But they didn't."

Atsumu would try to engage Tendou in combat, consequences and cover be damned. But Osamu is his own person, and there's a four inch blade pointed at him.

"I wasn't talking to anyone." Osamu meets Tendou's gaze steadily. He's a good liar, Osamu knows. The problem is that Tendou is also a good interrogator, with animal instincts for getting information out of people. "I don't know what you heard, but it wasn't me."

"You wouldn't lie, would you, Mizuno-chan? You know what it'll mean if I have to ask you in front of Ushijima." Tendou's grin widens, his stare still completely unblinking. He raises the blade so that it's pointed at Osamu's left eye.

"I'm not lying." Osamu can feel his heartbeat accelerating, his breathing picking up slightly. It's only natural, considering that there's a knife a few centimeters from him. Tendou moves the blade slowly from side to side like he's trying to charm a snake, and Osamu has to force himself to look at Tendou rather than the knife.

"Give me your phone," Tendou says, enunciating the words carefully. "Give me your phone now before I put this knife through your eye." There's a sing-song quality to the way the words come out. As a seeming afterthought, Tendou adds, "Please."

Osamu's never been more relieved that he doesn't use his phone for anything other than communicating directly with members of Shiratorizawa. He rummages in his pocket for his phone, holds it out to Tendou.

"Hm," Tendou takes the phone with his free hand, the knifeblade never moving. "Passcode?"

"7-5-3-6."

"Ya sure you haven't been telling Seijoh things ya shouldn't? Last chance, Mizuno-chan. If ya tell me now, I'll make it quick. I don't think ya want to do things the hard way, do ya?" The words are sing-song and lilting, a child's parody of Osamu's accent, then Tendou snaps the switchblade shut. His smile goes teasing, expression playful, but the cold look in his eyes never shifts. "Have a nice day, Mizuno-chan. I'll give you your phone back once I've had a little look-see."

Tendou waves his hand coyly, then wheels about abruptly and leaves the room.

Osamu has to take a minute to stare after Tendou, doing his best to keep his breathing calm and even, before he feels safe enough to even look at the corner of the room where Suna is hiding.

  


*

  


"You're pulling out," Suna says that evening, his voice tense in the small confines of his tiny closet. "Tendou's got great instincts. We got lucky, but it's only a matter of time."

"What the fuck," Osamu says. "You want us to pull out _now_?"

Suna stares at Osamu like he's a moron. "You've seen Tendou's psych profile. You've fucking worked with him before. The man is a literal sociopath. He's killed at least ten people in the last three months--"

"Yeah, he's a sociopath. And he's going to stay that way unless we do something about it."

"This isn't a debate," Suna says, flatly. "You're pulling out. Get a message to your handler first thing tomorrow. If he's halfway competent, it shouldn't take longer than 24 hours to extract you."

"We don't have enough evidence to arrest anyone except Semi and Goshiki and Kawanishi. Ushijima'll hire a good lawyer and he'll be back on the street within a day."

"Tendou's close to Ushijima and you're not anything to either of them," Suna rakes a hand through his hair, dishevelling it more than it already is. "What if they decide it's not worth the risk and decide to shoot you?"

"There's no reason to do that. There's nothing interesting on my phone, and I've proven my loyalty to Ushijima over and over--"

"Are you fucking _stupid_ ," Suna snaps. His voice is low and furious, the words spilling into each other as he speaks. "Was getting stabbed once not enough? What do you think Ushijima'll say if Tendou shows up and says 'oh, hey, I think some low ranking guy in our organization's passing info to Seijoh'? He'll have you shot outright if you're lucky, or have Tendou work you over if you aren't."

"Tendou's not going to say that." Osamu says. "And Kuroo and Teshiro won't pull me out anyway, not without something solid against Ushijima."

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Suna says. "If they won't pull you out, then you pull yourself out. You've spent most of this mission wanting to get out, and _now_ you want to stay?"

"Because we're almost _done_." Osamu can feel his voice shaking with anger, because how dare Suna. Does Suna think Osamu's enjoyed any of this? "I'm the one who's been stuck here for the past year of my life, I'm not blowing up the mission just 'cause ya think Tendou _might_ tell Ushijima something."

"Making Special Agent doesn't mean anything if you're dead," Suna says, furious. "What the fuck is wrong with you."

"It's a few more weeks," Osamu snaps back. "I'm not throwing away a year of work just because ya can't be bothered to wait a couple weeks--"

"It's been a 'couple more weeks' for an entire year. Are you so stupid that you can't see Kuroo's going to string you along forever? You're too close to this case to judge--"

"You don't even _know_ Kuroo," Osamu snaps. "I don't tell ya things about Iizuna, so don't tell me about Kuroo. I don't try to tell ya what to do with your mission--"

"You hate undercover work," Suna snaps. "You hate undercover work and you hate field work and I don't see why you're risking your life to become a Special Agent when you don't even want to be one in the first place."

"Kiryuu _died_ for this," Osamu says. "Aran almost did. If we don't take Ushijima down, then none of it means anything."

"Yeah, I'm sure Aran's going to be really happy when he can leave some flowers and a case file on your grave," Suna says. "What the fuck. What would you say if it was Atsumu?"

The question is Suna flipping the rock over to reveal the squirming maggots underneath.

The question is everything Osamu's been trying not to think about all this time.

" 'Tsumu would say the exact same thing I am," Osamu says, deliberately misunderstanding.

"Yeah, sure, because you're both idiots," Suna says. "You're not even a Special Agent. Why are you risking your life for a bunch of people who don't care about you? You don't have any undercover experience, they stick you in this place without a clear endgame--"

"I _know_ I'm not a Special Agent," Osamu snarls. "That's why I'm fucking doing this."

There's a part of Osamu that knows this fight is stupid. He knows it. But the rest of him is too furious to back down. It's Atsumu who always gets to save the day and close out the cases. Osamu wants to be the hero for once.

  


*

  


They don't talk about it. They don't talk about it because Suna isn't talking to him, and because Osamu's not having this fight. For a couple days Osamu's twitchier than usual and has to resist the urge to jump whenever he sees Ushijima or Tendou, but it's fine. Osamu's fine.

Whatever he and Suna were before--isn't. They don't talk about that either. In public, nothing's changed, Suna still sleeps in Osamu's room because it'd look bad to alter their routines. In public, Suna's the same as always, but in private he doesn't press open-mouthed kisses to Osamu's throat anymore, or curl up to Osamu in the middle of the night. He starts working late all the time, and sleeping on the other side of the room.

It's fine. It's _fine_.

Eight days after his encounter with Tendou, Osamu goes to his biweekly meeting with Teshiro and says everything is fine when the man asks.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |F| 24. →**

  
"Special Agent, huh," Osamu had said, when Atsumu's promotion was announced. "Congratulations, 'Tsumu."

Osamu thought he would be upset when it happened. In the moment, Osamu was surprised to find that he didn't feel anything except frustrated that he wasn't more worked up.

Aran had been delighted when he'd gotten his promotion. Osamu and Atsumu had still been in high school then, but the Ojiros had taken the entire family and Kita out for a celebratory dinner. Aran hadn't been able to stop grinning. He tried to play it off and be cool, but every so often Aran's parents would say something about how he was going to do great things, or how they knew he'd be wonderful in the field, or how proud of him they were, and then Aran would start beaming all over again.

"That's gonna be us someday, 'Samu," Atsumu had said, digging a sharp elbow into Osamu's side. Atsumu had been grinning too, like he could already taste his Special Agent status before ever joining the Agency. "Bet I'll get it before ya, scrub."

"Maybe ya should join up first before you start talking about getting promoted," Osamu had snapped, elbowing Atsumu back hard. "And don't call me a fuckin' scrub, _scrub_."

Every so often afterwards, Osamu thought about the way Aran had looked that night, all smiles, and wondered if Atsumu was right. Osamu kept waiting for it to kick in.

Atsumu had been happy when they'd both been admitted to the Intelligence Security Agency's program right out of high school at eighteen. Osamu thought it would have been difficult for them to be rejected, given their test scores, the fact that they were orphans, and who their father had been. Candidates without extraneous family tended to make the best Special Agents. The second best were the ones who had Special Agent family members. The Miya twins qualified on every count: the recruiting office would have been insane to turn them down.

It was logical to accept them as junior agent candidates, so there wasn't any reason Osamu should have been happy about it. It was like being excited that _2 + 2 = 4_. You didn't get thrilled about things that were obvious.

But even if it was obvious, Atsumu was still excited and thrilled.

Basic training had been like that too.

Basic training for the Intelligence Security Agency was like weeding: a significant percentage of their class washed out because they couldn’t meet the requirements, or couldn’t deal with the grueling pace. Osamu wasn't as bad as 'Tsumu. Osamu did have enough self-awareness to know how many of their classmates would have given anything to trade places.

Osamu didn't hate basic training. It wasn't like Atsumu or the Ojiros or anybody had held a gun to his head and said he had to join. Pursuing the Special Agent track was a decision Osamu made based on the things he was good at.

It was just that every time Kurosu or Oomi told Osamu how great his test scores were, and how well he was doing, and how he was destined to a bright future, it never seemed like much. It was just that it always seemed like there was something missing.

Maybe there was something missing from him, Osamu thought sometimes, at night when he couldn't sleep.

When Atsumu made Special Agent, Osamu stared at the sheer joy in his twin's face and wondered if he would finally feel that way when it was his turn too.

  


*

  


The last time Osamu had seen his twin before everything had started going wrong, Atsumu had been sprinting out the door of their apartment to catch up with the rest of the Jackals. Atsumu had been late, and their apartment had been small; the Jackals had elected to wait for Atsumu at the end of the street.

"Don't miss me too much, scrub," Atsumu had called behind him as he ran, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Don't think ya can start slackin' just 'cause I'm not around."

Atsumu had given Bokuto and Hinata high-fives when he'd reached them. Atsumu had waved at Inunaki and Adriah, and given them a bright grin. Atsumu had literally run up to Sakusa, slung an arm over his shoulders, gotten shrugged off, and slung the arm back over again, laughing.

In the late morning sun, Atsumu had looked fearless, and so very happy.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |Y| 25. →**

  
Osamu's half-asleep in one of those seemingly endless meetings that Ushijima likes to hold, when someone rings the Shiratorizawa house doorbell. Ohira's been talking about shipping manifests for the past twenty minutes. Nobody's interested. Osamu didn't sleep well the night before, so he's even less interested than usual.

"Semi," Ushijima says, when the doorbell sounds a second time.

It's habit, more than anything else, that makes Osamu glance at Suna as Semi makes his way out of the room. Like usual, he and Suna are sitting near each other, but Suna's phone is out and he's texting. It's strange, Osamu thinks. Even though Suna's a texting addict, he's never been one to take unnecessary risks, and anyone Suzuki could be texting is already at the meeting. But Suna's right there, his thumbs clicking quickly away over his phone like--

When the windows shatter, it's a sudden shower of glass and gunshots. The entire room is suddenly filled with impenetrable white smoke.

 _Smoke grenade,_ the part of Osamu's mind that still remembers these things whispers. Back in training, they'd practiced deploying them, and he and Atsumu had gotten into a competition over who could throw theirs the furthest. They'd practiced outdoors, the smoke fading away into the open air after several minutes.

The meeting room they're in is an enclosed space, and there's nowhere for the smoke to go. It's thick and white and impenetrable, and Osamu can't see more than an inch in front of his face. Everyone in the room is screaming and shouting, trying to find the exit.

Gunshots are going off, some from inside the room, some from outside. Osamu can't tell which direction the exit is or who's attacking. He picks a direction at random, hoping to find a wall.

A couple times he steps on something that has the distinct give of human flesh. It could be someone unconscious, or it could be a dead body. Osamu doesn't have time to figure out which. He keeps moving and tries not to think about Suna.

"Fuck." Osamu stumbles into a door frame by sheer chance. When he pushes the door open, he reveals clean, fresh air in the outside hallway.

It's clear Osamu wasn't the first to find the exit. There's already a thin cloud of smoke present in the hallway, clearly transferred from the meeting room, and there's blood on the floor that wasn't there earlier.

It doesn't make any sense, Osamu thinks, staring down at the blood. Why would Oikawa use smoke grenades to attack Shiratorizawa? There's no reason, when it would be faster and more expedient to use a real grenade. It doesn't line up with any of the psychological profiles of Oikawa or Iwaizumi that he's read.

None of it makes sense.

"Mizuno," Soekawa gasps, stumbling outside the room. Goshiki and Yamagata are just a few steps behind him. All three look shell-shocked. Both Soekawa and Goshiki are holding guns. "Have you seen Ushijima or Washijo? Do you know what's going on?"

"It's Seijoh," Goshiki says dismissively. There's a cut on his forehead, his dark hair matted down with what looks like a mix of sweat and blood, but he otherwise looks fine, if a bit dazed. "Who else would it be?"

"I just got here," Osamu says to Soekawa. "You know as much as I do."

"Should we go back in to find Ushijima-san?" Goshiki asks.

"Are you fucking crazy," Yamagata says flatly. "It's a shitshow in there."

"We'll head to the garage," Soekawa says. "That's where Ushijima and Washijo will head first."

They're heading down the hallway as they talk, Goshiki and Soekawa constantly sweeping around to cover every possible direction and doorway. Osamu just hopes that nobody from Shiratorizawa itself walks in, because Soekawa and Goshiki are both so jumpy that they're likely to shoot before asking any questions.

The four of them pause for a moment once they reach the door that'll lead them outside and along the Shiratorizawa lawn before they get to the garage.

"We'll go fast, on a count of three," Soekawa says. "Run and don't stop moving until we're there, got it?"

Osamu doesn't see the police strike team when they open the doors. None of them can do or see anything except blinding white light. Later, Osamu will realize it was a spotlight trained on them from a helicopter.

"Police! Drop your weapons!" someone shouts, as the four of them stand there blinking dumbly, trying to figure out what's even going on.

Both Soekawa and Goshiki start shooting. The police shoot back. One or two police strike team members go down in a pile of limbs. Soekawa, Osamu, and Goshiki all duck back into the door they ran through a few moments before, taking cover as best they can. Yamagata doesn't make it in time.

Soekawa and Goshiki are both shooting wildly, bullets slicing through the air.

And Osamu doesn't know what comes over him then. It's stupid. It's stupid, because if the strike team really are police, it's not like they're going to execute Osamu outright. At most they'll arrest him and everything will get sorted out later. But Osamu's so _tired_ of how long all of this has been going on.

Osamu jerks to his feet and shoots Goshiki in the leg, interrupting him midshot. Goshiki's on the ground, and Osamu manages to grab his gun away from him while Goshiki's still trying to figure out what's going on.

Soekawa's fast, though. He's already turning sharply, his teeth bared in a snarl and his semi-automatic coming up to point at Osamu.

"I knew there was something off about you," Soekawa says. "What'd they do, send you in as a plant? Suzuki too, or was that part just for fun?"

"Drop it," Osamu says. The words come out more like a whisper. 

There's shouting outside. If Osamu could hear better, it might resolve into distinct words and phrases, but instead it all sounds far away like something underwater. There's shouting, a lot of it, and then suddenly _Atsumu's_ coming through the doorway.

" 'Samu," he says. He's got his gun up, pointed at Soekawa. "Drop it."

"There's two of you?" Soekawa's laughter is harsh. "What are you, his brother? _You_ drop it or I'll shoot him. You too, Mizuno."

Atsumu looks between Osamu and Soekawa, thinking. Then he engages the safety on his gun and sets it down on the ground, far enough away that it's unlikely Goshiki or Soekawa will be able to make a quick grab for it.

Slowly, Osamu also does the same with the semi-automatic he took from Goshiki as well as his own gun.

"Let him go." Atsumu holds his hands up in surrender, moving so that Soekawa has to keep turning in order to keep his gun trained steady on Atsumu. "Ya can have me. I'm higher rank than that dumbass, I'm a better hostage for the cops outside."

"Kick your weapon over here," Soekawa says tersely. "No sudden movements, or I'll shoot him and you." He can't seem to decide who to focus on: Atsumu or Osamu. He keeps swiveling to aim at one, then the other.

"I'm not doing anythin'." Atsumu moves slowly toward his gun, his hands still in the air. "Just let him go."

A lot of things happen next. The first is that Atsumu does the complete opposite of what anyone is supposed to do in a hostage situation and dives for his gun. The second is that Soekawa jerks his gun away from Osamu to aim straight at Atsumu. The third is that a gunshot goes off on the other side of the room, and suddenly Soekawa's falling over, dead.

When Osamu turns to look, Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing in a different doorway.

"Miya." He nods at Osamu, and although it's clear to everyone that Soekawa is already dead, Sakusa still observes textbook protocol as he moves across the room to gingerly kick Soekawa's gun away before checking for a pulse, and then going to handcuff Goshiki.

Osamu can't process what's happening. Atsumu is a weird, but reasonable hallucination. Sakusa is not. None of this makes sense.

" 'Samu," Atsumu is saying. He's still holding his hands up, looking at Osamu like he's afraid to spook him. " 'Samu, what the fuck are ya doing? What the fuck were ya even thinkin'?"

 _This can't possibly be a hallucination,_ Osamu thinks, inanely. _'Tsumu's hair looks decent._

Sakusa's saying something about medical checking Osamu. Osamu tunes him out. He stares at Atsumu instead, who doesn't seem to be a hallucination.

" 'Tsumu?"

"Yeah, 'Samu," Atsumu says, something terribly gentle in his face as he reaches out to hug Osamu. "It's me."

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |E| 26. →**

  
"You're being stupid," Atsumu had said, chewing through a mouthful of shrimp chips, "Just ask him, I'm tired of seeing ya walk around here like someone killed your dog."

"Shut up, 'Tsumu," said Osamu. "And close your mouth when ya eat, you're getting crumbs everywhere."

"You've been mooning over him since _high school_ ," Atsumu said. "We didn't even go to the same school as him!"

"Like you were any better," Osamu shot back. "I hadta spend half of basic training listening to ya tell me 'Omi-Omi's such a great shot', 'look at his hand-to-hand grappling', 'he's so good with knives', on and on and on."

"Yeah, and look at me now," said Atsumu, smirking. He reached into the bag of chips and stuffed another handful in his mouth. " _I_ got a hot boyfriend and you're all alone. Who's the scrub now, scrub?"

Osamu shot an annoyed look in Atsumu's direction. "Shut the fuck up, 'Tsumu. It ain't your business."

"I just don't know what's taking you so long," Atsumu grumbled, "It's not like he'll say no."

  


*

  


'No' wasn't what Osamu was worried about.

  


*

  


The smart thing to do would have been to do as everyone else did and find someone pretty and willing. Kosaku and Riseki knew people who knew people: the name Miya was something that carried a certain amount of cachet.

There were girls, and there were boys, but there was always something wrong. They talked too much, or they didn't understand Osamu's jokes, or they were too easily impressed by Atsumu. They said Osamu was too quiet, or that he was boring, or-- or something.

There was always something.

  


*

  


A year and a half after graduation, Osamu went out to the Tottori base to visit Suna and Gin for the weekend. Something last minute came up for Gin, so Suna took Osamu sightseeing around Tottori. There was a weird character figurine museum, and famous sand dunes, and a long, winding river lined by cherry trees. There were street food stalls, and parks with parents and small children, and Tottori wasn't anything like Amagasaki or Kawasaki. Suna was quiet, the same as always, but he didn't pull away the few times Osamu's arm brushed against his, and the secret, hidden way Suna's eyes lit up and his mouth quirked when he was happy was the same as it always had been too.

  


*

  


"Sunarin," Osamu began once, or twice, or thrice, and then thought better of it every time.

  
  


* * *

* * *

**← |Z| 27. **

  
When Osamu wakes, he's in his bedroom at home. From the stripes of sunlight on the wall, it's early morning. In their kitchen, he can hear voices and the sound of kitchenware clanging.

" 'Samu, yer awake," Atsumu exclaims when Osamu swings his bedroom door open. He bounds to his feet from where he's sitting at the kitchen table, ignoring the way the jacket on his lap falls to the ground. "How're ya feeling?"

" 'Tsumu," Osamu says, sitting at the table across from him. He should have asked the night before, but he'd been too dazed after the Shiratorizawa raid and helicopter ride back to Kawasaki to do more than choke down the sedatives a medic had handed him before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. "Uh -- I feel fine. Good, actually."

"You sure?" Atsumu asks. "I can make some phone calls if you want someone from Medical to check on ya. Or if ya want someone from Psych to come by--"

"I'm _fine_ , 'Tsumu."

"Would you like tea or something to eat?" Sakusa asks, ignoring Atsumu's indignant squawk. "We flew straight to Miyagi, so the refrigerator's empty, but there's some anpan if you'd like that, or I also don't mind bringing something back from the konbini."

"Anpan's fine, thank you," Osamu says, and takes the bun Sakusa hands him. Ripping it in half, he takes a bite. "Uh, not that I mind seeing the two of ya, but -- what're ya even doing here? Why aren't ya in Brazil?"

"Heard ya needed some help, so the team and I came by."

"The team," Osamu repeats, squinting at his brother. "Ya mean the _Jackals_?"

There isn't anything else Atsumu could have meant, but Osamu asks just to be sure. Deep cover missions are serious and usually long term: it makes zero sense for the Black Jackals to have broken that cover for the sake of a junior agent like Osamu.

"Yeah. Well, not the entire team--just me and Omi," Atsumu says. "Bokkun and Shoyo're still finishing things up with everyone else. All the interesting stuff was done with already though, so I'm not missin' anything except paperwork. Ya kinda did me a favor, letting me skip out on all that."

"Wait, does Meian know you're here?"

"Yeah, of course." Atsumu scoffs. "How bad d'you think I am?"

"Pretty bad," Sakusa murmurs.

"I told Meian I was taking my two weeks a year of leave to rescue your ass," Atsumu continues. "And now here I am."

"Wait, Meian _let_ ya go on leave in the middle of a deep cover mission?"

"Your brother didn't give him a choice," Sakusa says laconically. "He’s an idiot, by the way."

"I know," Osamu says, just as Atsumu indignantly says, _HEY_.

"Meian knows how great I am," Atsumu says. "I told him that he didn't have any choice but to let me go, so he gave me the time off."

"He means he told Meian that he'd quit the Agency altogether and go bail you out if Meian didn't let him leave." For all the biting tone to Sakusa's voice, there's something very soft in the way he looks at Atsumu. "I came along because nobody trusted your brother to get back to Japan without missing a flight. Or two."

"That happened _once_ , Omi-Omi," Atsumu protests.

"Heh." Sakusa buries his smirk in a sip of tea.

"How'd ya even know?" Osamu asks. "My case was supposed to be deep cover."

"It is," Atsumu says. "But Sunarin got in touch, so."

"Wait, _Suna_ told ya I needed help?"

"Well, yeah, how d'you think I even wound up here?" Atsumu makes a face like Osamu is being deliberately obtuse, and now he's starting to sound more and more like the pain-in-the-ass Osamu grew up with. "You were under deep cover, I was under deep cover, didn't it occur to ya that it was strange Omi and I knew exactly when and where to show up? Sunarin got in touch."

"Suna _what_ ," Osamu repeats blankly.

"Komori is Suna's handler." Atsumu says slowly, sounding annoyed that Osamu isn't getting it. "Komori and Omi are cousins. Sunarin told Komori that he had concerns about the way your case was being handled, so Komori bent the rules to get word to Omi, and then Omi told me, and here we all are now."

"How did Suna know when the police were going to raid Shiratorizawa?" Osamu asks.

"What're ya even talking about," Atsumu says, looking blank. "Suna's the one who called them in."

  


*

  


A couple days later, Osamu's in bed watching old episodes of Iron Chef when Atsumu knocks on his bedroom door. "Hey, 'Samu? Ya got a couple minutes to talk?"

Atsumu's being too nice, and it's weird. Osamu wants his pain-in-the-ass brother back instead of this weird person who's creeping around their apartment and asking every hour whether he can get Osamu anything.

"Yeah, 'Tsumu." Osamu inches over on the bed to make some space. He's prepared for Atsumu to flop down heavily next to him like usual, or directly on top of Osamu if Atsumu feels like being particularly annoying, but Atsumu sits like a normal person. "What is it?"

"I wanted to see if yer doing okay."

" 'm doing fine," Osamu says, more sarcastically than necessary. "Just like I toldja the last ten times ya asked, scrub. What's this really about, 'Tsumu?"

Atsumu doesn't say anything for several seconds, then as if he's trying to compensate, he says in a quick rush of words, "Sunarin told me ya didn't want to pull out when your cover was blown."

"My cover wasn't _blown_ ," Osamu starts, immediately defensive, and slams his laptop shut. Bending over the side of his bed, he deposits it gingerly on the floor. "Is that what Suna toldja?"

"Yeah," Atsumu says. "But it kinda sounded like it was blown from what he said."

"Well, Suna's exaggerating." Osamu's not even sure why he's so annoyed, since the mission is already over, so it's not like it matters either way. "It was fine."

"Okay." Atsumu worries at Osamu's bedspread with his thumbnail, working some stitching loose. "Didja decide if yer taking the promotion or not?"

"To Jackals?" Osamu glances at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye.

"No, in general," Atsumu says. "The Special Agent promotion, I mean, not the specific unit or division or whatever. Are ya going to take it?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Osamu can't figure out where Atsumu's going with this. "I thought you of all people'd be excited that I finally got it. Yer the one who's been harassing me about it forever."

It's the dream, after all, the thing that Atsumu's been talking about since they were kids. It's the thing Atsumu's been working toward his entire life. It's the thing _Osamu's_ been working toward his entire life.

"D'you remember the Ojiros asked us what we wanted to do, and I said we were gonna become Special Agents like Dad?" Atsumu asks. "And then Aran's dad said they were Special Agents too, so they could help us with that, if that was what we wanted?"

"Yeah, 'Tsumu," Osamu says. "What about it?"

"I don't regret it at all. I love it. Bein' a Special Agent, I mean. There's some shit parts too, but mostly it's good. It's fun, y'know?" Atsumu rakes a hand through his hair. "I mean I really do enjoy it, 'Samu. The helping people, and taking out bad guys, and making the world safer and all that. I can't imagine doing anything different."

"Okay . . . ?"

"I'm real lucky 'cause I love it," Atsumu says. "But y'know you don't hafta keep doing this just 'cause of me or Dad, right?" The stitches that Atsumu's been tugging at unravel faster as Atsumu works his fingers through the loops and pulls hard. "Maybe Dad was a Special Agent, but Mom wasn't."

  


*

  


"Special Agent Miya, congratulations on your promotion," Kuroo says, when Osamu knocks on the open door to his office. It's just as messy as the last time Osamu visited fifteen months before. "Looks like you're doing well."

"Thanks," Osamu says. It's been a week since he left Shiratorizawa, and this is the first time he's been back to work since. "Is this a good time? Ya asked me t'come by but weren't too specific on the details, so . . . "

"No, now's great. It's nothing too important, so my apologies if you got the wrong impression." Kuroo nods at the chair across from him, waiting for Osamu to close the door and be seated before he goes on. There's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes as golden and focused on Osamu's face as always. "I just wanted to let you know we got them."

"What, _all_ of them?" Osamu asks, startled.

"Not all, but enough," Kuroo says. "Ushijima and Utsui will be going away for a long time. So will most of the high ranking members."

 _Shirabu. Semi. Goshiki. Tendou._ It's strange to think of the people Osamu lived and worked among for a time as the same people he'd seen led out of the Shiratorizawa house in handcuffs.

"D'you think they'll be able to come back as an organization?"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't count on it. It's more likely that Aoba Johsai will expand to fill the available space. Oikawa's smart enough to capitalize on the opportunity." Kuroo shrugged. "But enough of that, I didn't ask you to come by to talk shop."

"Oh." Osamu stares at Kuroo, the jumble of cables and folders that litter his desk's top. For a moment he thinks the section chief might apologize, but it's only a fleeting thought. Ushijima and Utsui are arrested now, the rest of Shiratorizawa scattered or imprisoned. Next to that, fifteen months of Osamu's life and a knife to the ribs are hardly anything.

Kuroo will never apologize to him, Osamu knows, because in Kuroo's mind there is nothing to apologize for. The only thing either of them did is their job.

"I asked you here to see if you've decided what you'll do next?" Kuroo asks. "It'll probably be a couple days before your paperwork finishes going through, but I'd be happy to talk to Meian now if that's what you want. Iizuna said he'd put in a good word too."

  


*

  


Suna's leaning against the corridor wall when Osamu exits Kuroo's office. He's staring down at his phone, but he glances up at the sound of the door and Osamu's footsteps. Osamu knows the exact moment Suna recognizes him because his shoulders go stiff before his slouch becomes even more pronounced.

He doesn't turn and walk away from Osamu, though. That's something.

"Suna," Osamu says, walking up to him. The name feels strange in his mouth after this long. "What're ya doing?"

"Checking my email." Suna clicks his cell phone screen dark, and slides it into his pants pocket. It's a different model than the one Osamu's used to seeing. He supposes it's Suna's personal phone. "Congratulations on making Special Agent."

"Ya haven't come by to see me." Osamu says. " 'Tsumu said he's seen ya around, though."

"I've been busy," Suna says. He's clearly showered since he left Shiratorizawa; he's wearing different clothes, too. Osamu doesn't know why it comes as a surprise.

It's been a week since they resumed their old lives. It would be more surprising if Suna hadn't changed his clothes in all that time.

"Ya got somewhere to be, or do you have time for a walk?"

Suna doesn't respond, but he falls into step when Osamu starts walking. He doesn't say anything, but he follows Osamu down the stairs and outside the building.

October in Kawasaki is lovely, the trees' leaves on the cusp of change. The weather is warmer than in Sendai, but the air is still cool and fresh against Osamu's skin. They walk in silence for a time, until they're just down the street from Osamu's apartment.

"Are ya trying to tell me you've been busy reading yer email for the past week?" Osamu asks at last into the silence. He's aiming for a joking note, but he's not quite sure if he manages it. "That's awfully busy."

"I was working undercover for the last nine months and I happen to be on a lot of mailing lists," Suna says, not giving Osamu anything. "I have a lot of emails."

"Sunarin." Osamu stops walking. "Eight days?"

The sideways flicker of Suna's gaze is tired, but he stops walking too. "Atsumu and Sakusa're already here." His voice is light, toneless. "And I wasn't sure you'd want to see me. We kind of left things on a weird note."

"You were right," Osamu blurts. It's not what he'd meant to say, not really, but it's the closest thing he has to an answer. "Before, I mean. About life being what you make it, and about me being too close to the case to judge. 'Tsumu and Sakusa told me what ya did."

"It's fine," Suna says.

"It's really not," Osamu says. "I'm sorry, Sunarin. I shouldn't have said any of the things I did."

The only response he gets is a laconic shrug before Suna starts walking again, in the direction of Osamu's apartment building. This time it's Osamu who has to hurry to keep pace.

"Kuroo wanted to know what I'm doing next," Osamu says. "I guess Iizuna talked to Hibarida about me, said I was welcome in Counterterrorism if I didn't want to work with Meian or Kuroo."

"Iizuna's a good guy. It's why I decided to work with him for that last case."

Osamu bumps the back of his hand gently into Suna's, earning him a quick, startled sideways glance.

"Sunarin," Osamu says. "Ask me what I'm doing next. Ask me what I want to do now that I'm a Special Agent."

Suna doesn't say anything. There's something cautious and metered in the way he looks sidelong at Osamu, his gaze coolly assessing.

"Rin," Osamu says, quietly. It's the first time he's said the name aloud. "Please."

"What do you want to do next, 'Samu?" Suna asks.

"I don't know," Osamu says. "That's the point, isn't it? Most people don't. But my father was a Special Agent, and so were Aran's parents, and so're Aran and 'Tsumu. And I'm good at it, right? So it seemed like I might as well. For the longest time, I was afraid to do anything different than what people expected from me 'cause I wasn't sure I could, I guess. Then after a while I'd been doing it so long that I didn't want to realize I might want something else."

Suna doesn't say anything, but his eyes are bright and intent as he watches Osamu. Not for the first time, Osamu thinks how pretty the sharp slants and angles of Suna's features are.

"Ya told me before it was okay to want something for myself. I don't think I know what that is. But I told Kuroo and 'Tsumu that I'm taking some time off. Maybe I'll come back if I end up missing field work, or maybe I'll decide t'go to college or something like that. I don't know. I guess that's the point."

"How'd Atsumu take the news?"

"Better than I was expecting," Osamu admits. "He said I was a fuckin' dumbass for not bailing out sooner, and then he called me a fuckin' scrub for not thinking he'd understand."

Suna snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Sounds about right."

" 'Tsumu's a dumbass, but so'm I. Guess that's what happens when you're twins," Osamu says, grinning.

"Look, Rin." Now that Osamu's said it once, it's like he can't stop. Osamu wants him to be Rin for always. "Ya told me it was okay to be happy. That's the only thing I know for sure. I want you to be a part of my life, and I want us to be happy."

"Is there a question somewhere in there," Suna asks. He says it with the same flat affect he uses for everything, but there's something alight in his face because Osamu knows how to look. It's the same expression Suna had when they were snickering at Atsumu together at eighteen, in bed together at twenty-four.

"My question is whether ya want that too," Osamu says. "I understand if you don't, after everything that happened, or if you'd rather not wait, but--"

"I put up with your shit for months while we were in the middle of a murderous criminal organization and I still wanted you." Suna reaches out and takes Osamu's hand. "Why wouldn't I still want you now?"

"C'mon, then," Osamu says, grinning, and tugs Suna down the street and up the stairs after him.

At sixteen, Suna was Osamu's crush, at eighteen, Osamu's best friend. At twenty-four, Osamu wants to be a part of Suna's future, and to figure things out at his side.

When they get to Osamu's front door, Osamu presses a kiss to the corner of Suna's mouth. No one is there to see them, but Osamu would do the same thing even if there were. When he pulls away, Suna's smiling softly at him.

Osamu unlocks the door, and then he and Suna go inside together.

**Author's Note:**

> I owe _so_ much thanks to [Hannah](https://twitter.com/hanoorins/) ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarins/pseuds/lunarins)), [Eve](https://twitter.com/feralatsumu/) ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman)), and [Robin](https://twitter.com/deaddrabble) ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/DeadDrabble)) for their patience and help betaing.
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♥ Feel free to say 'hi' on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/requitedangsted/)


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